Love Boat
by chezchuckles
Summary: co-authored by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles. Beckett and Castle are assigned to work a case undercover.
1. Chapter 1

**LOVE BOAT**

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Rick Castle watches her out on the dance floor and thinks, not for the first time, what a colossal mistake this was. As he waits for her fourth vodka martini at the bar in the back of the ballroom, he wonders where he went wrong.<p>

He loves play-acting; he takes a childish delight in making Beckett squirm, and in turn, being made to squirm by Beckett as well. He thought a cruise sounded like so much fun, and undercover was an added thrill, and a favor for the mayor - he owes the man one. (One? Try a hundred.)

A cruise to the Bahamas - delightful, right? Almost a vacation, yes? No.

On a ship in the middle of the Atlantic, her gun hidden under their mattress - yes, *their* - and a missing persons' case that couldn't be further out of their reach, this is not anywhere approaching delightful.

It's quite close to hell on earth. Or rather, hell on the _Gem_, the name of this forsaken ship.

He's not going to make it; she's going to kill him. Either with her own two hands or her amazing, seductive body. Or the gun under their mattress when they have to sleep in that bed - together - tonight.

The drink appears before him; he tips the man and heads back out to the dance floor with her martini, taking a sip from it as he does, for courage or something to do.

Because this is a couples' cruise - for marriages in trouble.

And they have their second therapy session tomorrow morning at ten. The first one was a misery, staging a fight that felt more real than fake, a fight they took pains to carry out all through the ship. And then their homework (punishment for fighting) that they had to have done by tomorrow's session?

He's supposed to re-write his vows. So is she. That's not the problem, really, because he had vows written in a second, the moment the assignment was given.

No, the problem is - the vows - like the core of their fight - aren't fake.

None of this is fake.

Not to him.

* * *

><p>The song changes and Kate pauses, the hot, sticky air of the dance floor suddenly attacking her senses, the beat of the music no longer appealing. She's been trying to watch people, keep tabs on who's flirting with the wrong spouse, but the flashing lights and the crowd make it more complicated than she'd like.<p>

Of course, they also make her inconspicuous. Silver lining, right?

Holding back a sigh, she cuts her eyes to the bar, looking for Castle and her drink-

And there he is. So close; she almost jumps back in surprise.

Not a good idea.

"Thanks," she says with a smile as she takes the vodka martini, using her other hand to push her hair back from her sweaty neck.

Castle's eyes flicker to the exposed skin before he guiltily looks away. Seriously? It's not like he hasn't seen her neck before; besides, with the dress she's wearing - sleeveless, a deep v-neck, navy fabric that clings to her skin - her neck should really be the least of his concerns right now.

She takes a sip of vodka, studying him instead of the crowd. His foot is tapping to the music, but the rest of his body is tense: broad shoulders set, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes stubbornly fixed on the floor.

He makes it pretty damn obvious that he's not enjoying himself. And yet, whose fault is it that they're here?

Kate presses her lips together. She's not being fair. She's at least as responsible as he is.

It's not like they could ever say no the mayor, anyway; but with the lingering guilt she feels over the man's career being all but over - his own fault, she tries to tell herself, not hers, not hers - she didn't even consider ducking this assignment.

Which is why they're stuck on this ship.

Nothing left to do but solve the mystery now, is there?

Wrapping her fingers around Castle's tie, she tugs him closer, then winds an arm around his neck. She can feel the startled breath that he sucks in, but at least he follows her lead, resting a hand at the small of her back, swaying with her to the music.

"Try to look a little more cheerful, Castle," she suggests, her lips at his ear. "Otherwise people might start thinking that I'm an abusive wife."

His chest quivers with a laugh, and the tension in her stomach loosens a notch.

"Noticed anything interesting?" he murmurs back, even though Rihanna is blaring that she_ found love in a hopeless place,_ probably loud enough to dissuade anyone from listening in even if they shouted.

She shakes her head, frustrated with herself because it's only their first night, and she's not naive enough to think that this case - _these cases_ - were going to solve themselves in a day, is she?

But tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the stupid therapy session, with the vows, and-

Her heart crumples when she thinks of the folded sheet in the drawer of her bedside table, of the vow she couldn't keep from sounding entirely too sincere, even though it's short, even though she scribbled it down hastily like it doesn't matter.

She steps back, just enough that she can knock down half her drink, which should hopefully keep her from thinking. But the moment her lips leave the glass, Castle's fingers curl on top of hers, and he's drunk the rest of the vodka martini before she can do anything but stare.

She arches an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs, his small smile telling her exactly how bad he needed that. _You could have gotten your own drink, Castle_, she wants to say, but instead what comes out is, "We can go back to the room, if you want."

She feels him shiver at the unexpected suggestion, and her eyes slam shut when she realizes how it might have sounded. God, she hates all of this, the case, the cruise, the couples therapy and the role-playing.

She wants him to tremble against her - and she wants it to be real.

A grudging laugh stumbles out of her lips.

Yeah. Real is probably not the issue here.

His fingers brush against her hers in askance, and she shakes her head, unwilling to share her thoughts.

"I don't care, Kate," he finally answers. "Here, the room - one and the same. Your call."

She hears what he isn't saying; the prospect of an enclosed space, of a shared bed, isn't much more appealing than the dance floor.

She chews on her lip and then slowly slides her hand back to his neck, pushes him back among the dancers. She's not in a hurry to go back to the room, either.

Esposito can wait for their report a little longer.

* * *

><p>He's never again doing the mayor another stupid favor.<p>

So what if the mayor's friend's daughter's husband fell overboard on their honeymoon cruise on the _Gem_? Too many degrees of separation for Castle to feel any kind of obligation. And so what if another husband disappeared on the same ship a year before that? That doesn't scream serial killer, just drunk and stupid.

But it's the mayor. And he owes him. Big time. Running interference against Gates nearly every week. Man has to be a saint to do that. And yeah, the whole 'person of interest' thing which might have possibly ended his political aspirations. . .

Still, why does Rick Castle have to suffer for it?

Damn, she's beautiful. And sexy as hell. And every time she bites her lip like that, looking as if she thinks she needs to be worried about him but can't figure out why-

What does it matter where they are? Room or out here. Either place, he's going to want her badly - without a chance in hell of having her. In the room, his misery would be solitary, no witnesses, but at least out here, he can pretend that the reason he doesn't say anything is because the music is too loud.

Only a day and already he wants this case over.

They have until Port Canaveral, Florida, to find some solid evidence or they're done, off the case. Gates gave them the extent of the U.S. voyage, but once they hit international waters, they've got no back-up and no right to be here.

They disembark in Florida, regardless. He's so very grateful.

(Although, the huge buffets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner are amazing; best food ever. Still.)

At that moment, Beckett grabs him by the elbow and starts propelling him off the dance floor. Once they get away from the center, hovering on the edges, she leans in and explains.

"We've made enough of a statement tonight. Let's go. I need to call Esposito."

A statement. "You want to stage another fight?" he says back, leaning down to put his mouth at her ear. The driving beat, the thump of the bass - he has to. She can't hear him over the music. It's not that he loves the heat of her so close to his mouth, the slight hitch in her breath when he's this close.

It's not that at all.

"No, not tonight. I can't-" She shrugs her shoulders, and he feels her hair against him as she shakes her head.

But he gets it. He's felt like crap all day, arguing with her over nothing, made up things, and yet still feeling the sting of it. Hard to shake it off, both the untrue (somewhat true) things he said to Kate and the (used to be) true things she said to him.

"But drunk-" she mutters and sighs against his cheek, lays her forehead on his shoulder. He's not sure what this is, acting the part of the partying, unhappy wife who's had too much to drink or if she's just as bone-weary as he is, faking fights that are a little too real and baring private information geared to attract the attention of their murderer.

Of course, it's not supposed to be _real_ private information.

It's just - it actually is real.

"I can do drunk," he murmurs back, swaying with her at the edge of the dance floor, wrapping his arms around her, needing it for just a moment, even if he shouldn't.

"People fight and make up all the time, right? We've seen that here. Like this morning, that couple next door-" She breaks off with a laugh and lifts her head from his shoulder, some of that fragility gone from her eyes, thank goodness.

"Um, yes. They were. . .adamantly making up." He quirks an eyebrow at her and keeps his hands carefully neutral. "And Karen Smith said she and her husband were only fighting a couple of those cruise days. Not all of them. So I think we can put the fight on hold."

Kate nods at him, turns her face away as if she's having to regroup, summon courage or strength from some deep place. He's not stupid; he knows it's just as difficult for her to play at being married as it is for him. She's not cold, not heartless; it gets to her. Kate's given him one too many tender looks this morning (like apologies for whatever accusation she just hurled at him) for him to believe that she doesn't also understand how it gets to him.

There's just nothing for it. They'll have to do their best and get off the ship in Florida - hopefully with either their murdering employee or proof that these two missing husbands fell overboard by accident.

"Let's go, Castle," she says, turning him towards the door of the ship's ballroom with an arm around his waist.

They've done the faked, drunken stumble before. At least that's familiar. He wishes - for an instant - that they could do the fake kiss too.

Because it's never been fake.

* * *

><p>She lets go of his waist to slam the key into the door, has enough presence of mind to make him go first - <em>see, Castle, I can learn<em> - then totters inside, since there are people in the corridor who might be watching them.

Once the door is closed, she miraculously finds her balance again, kicks off her shoes, and steps towards the bed.

The cabin is small. She noticed this morning, when they dropped their stuff here, but it seems even worse at night. Despite the efforts of the large mirror above the bed, of the sliding glass door that opens onto a cute little balcony, the space really is tiny.

It makes Kate regret that Gates was so determined to refuse Castle's offer to pay for a suite.

Of course, the NYPD shouldn't be taking money from the writer - not to mention, yeah, it's sort of illegal - so it's probably better this way. But still...

The tension that stems from having to play a married couple is bad enough as it is. Having to share not only a bed, but this ridiculously cramped room? Yeah. Not helping.

"Mind if I take a shower?" Castle asks as he shrugs off his jacket.

The movement involuntarily draws her attention to the lovely breadth of his shoulders; she sucks in a breath, cursing the person who designed this ship, the one who thought of establishing stupid marriage-therapy cruises, and the two unfortunate dead guys they're here because of.

"Sure, Castle. Go ahead. I'm gonna call Esposito."

He skirts the bed to get to the bathroom, walking past her as he does; her eyes linger on the view.

His ass looks good in those dress pants.

Oh, damn.

She waits until the bathroom door is closed to bury her face in her hands, let out a growl of frustration. This is torture. Downright torture.

It may look like a fancy cruise, may have a stupid casino and a spa, shops and restaurants and three pools - something out of a dream - but *she* knows better. She reaches for her phone, finds Esposito in her contacts list, but changes her mind at the last second.

Might as well use Castle's time in the bathroom to peel the dress off her skin, put on her own sleeping clothes. She'll be grateful for it later.

Kate finds the zipper of her dress - the back is a deep V as well, which doesn't exactly make things easy - and tugs it down, frowning when the material doesn't come apart like she hoped it would.

She blindly feels for the top of the zipper, remembers with a sigh that there's a small hook holding the dress together. Shit. She asked Castle to close it earlier - that was awkward enough - and there's no way, _no way_, that she will make him undo it now.

No freaking way.

Kate fights with the hook, her fingers growing numb and a little desperate, until at last (thank god) it comes apart. She drops her arms in relief, lets herself fall back on the bed to catch her breath, closing her eyes. She's shaking.

Pathetic.

She opens her eyes and gasps, startled by the view overhead.

Mirrors. On the ceiling above the bed.

_Oh God._

Biting her lip, she sits up, shucks the dress, quickly changes into leggings and a t-shirt. Ignore the mirrors. The water has stopped running in the bathroom - Castle is fast - but he is also enough of a gentleman to ask if she's decent before he comes out.

And there's not even a hint of a leer, not even a touch of hope in his voice.

Why does it make her sad?

"Yeah, Castle, you can come out."

He does, dressed in dark shorts and a t-shirt, and this time she's careful to keep her eyes on her phone.

"Calling Esposito now," she tells him.

He acknowledges her with a nod and a small smile, then squats down next to his bag, retrieving a case before he makes his way back to the bathroom. Amusement bubbles in her chest; she's always thought he was the kind to live out of his suitcase.

Looks like she was right.

"Hey, Beckett," Esposito answers on the second ring, sounding entirely too awake and cheerful. "I was waiting for your call. 'S pretty late."

"I told you, Esposito. We had this dress-up, mixer thing we were supposed to be at." She knows she sounds weary and curt, but she can't bring herself to care.

"Yeah yeah, I know. So did you have fun with Castle? Did you two dance close to one of those sexy songs they play right now - Yo! Ryan! What's the name of one? Ooh, _I'm gonna make you sweat_," he says, his voice dropping an octave. She can tell he's wiggling his eyebrows, too, and she's not buying the forgetful act.

Well. At least one of them is laughing. She opens her mouth for a sparkling retort, but nothing comes; in fact, she realizes in horror that she's closer to tears than anything else.

She's tired. That's all.

Both Esposito and Castle worry about her lack of answer; she hears the first one asking, "Beckett?" just as the second one pokes his head out of the bathroom, shooting her a concerned look.

"It's fine," she tells both of them, but she can see from Castle's face that he is not fooled - _it's fine_ is very different from _I'm fine_.

Still. It's all she can give him right now.

"Sorry, boss," Esposito says on the phone, and the mixture of regret and shame with which he speaks the words convinces her that she must sound really, really bad. "I guess pretending's not going so well for either of you, huh?"

There's no way she's discussing her emotional state with her fellow detective - especially knowing that Castle is listening in - so she gets down to business instead.

"We don't have much, Espo. We talked to as many employees as we could without looking suspicious, but nothing's popped yet. There's this one guy, Martin, who tended the bar tonight and spent a lot of time leering at drunk women, so we'll keep an eye on him. And on the couples that would make possible targets."

"So, fight strategy didn't come to anything?"

She closes her eyes, her heart aching. "Not that we could tell. We'll try again tomorrow."

"Okay." She feels, rather than sees, Castle coming out of the bathroom as Esposito speaks - the scent of his soap in the air, the dip of the mattress when he sits down on his side.

"...I'll tell Gates tomorrow morning. She'll want an update, too."

"When doesn't she?" Kate jokes half-heartedly, opening her eyes. Her partner is getting under the covers, a book in hand, careful to stay on his side.

Always so careful.

Mirrors. He hasn't seen them yet? Or just better at ignoring-

Esposito chuckles on the phone, reclaiming her attention, and his voice is warm when he says, "Night, boss."

"Night, Espo," she replies softly, ending the call.

"What did he say?" Castle asks after a good five seconds of holding back.

A tired smile finds its way to her lips. He doesn't change.

"What do you think he said, Castle? We don't have anything, really. Nothing solid, at least."

The writer's blue eyes cloud when she says that, and she would feel bad, except - it's the truth. Doesn't mean that she doesn't want to kiss the disappointment off the line of his mouth, though.

"Right," he says quietly.

"I'll take my turn in the bathroom," she answers quickly, getting up again and moving away.

Anything, anything to soothe her hyperawareness of his body next to hers, all strong lines and welcoming smell, the gentle shadows that fall on the side of his face.

She closes the bathroom door, rests her back to it with a sigh.

She needs sleep, and it doesn't look like she's getting any.

* * *

><p>"This is ridiculous," he says finally. He can tell she's feigning sleep, just as he's lying here in the darkness on his back, counting his breaths and begging for oblivion.<p>

Ignoring the dim reflection of their two separate bodies in the mirror overhead. A parody of what it should be.

She gives a soft, sighing laugh and turns towards him; he can see her all too clearly even though the moon is nowhere to be seen and the vast horizon of ocean and overcast sky lend no light.

"It is," she says softly. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Kate." It's his. He's the one in love with her. She's the one who's not ready. That's all there is to it.

"It is. I'm the one who got us here - putting into motion the Mayor's downfall. It's my fault we owe him at all; we wouldn't be here if-"

"If you hadn't done your job? Kate."

She sighs and rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling; he matches her. Their eyes meet in the mirror, strange and disconsolate, even somewhat. . .electric. He doesn't know what to say, he only knows that they've got to say something.

He starts with what he knows. "Tomorrow."

She sighs again, lifts a hand to cover her eyes. He wonders, quite suddenly, if she's trying to keep from crying. He thought when she was on the phone with Esposito that she looked entirely too brittle. She's looked like that all day, but only at odd moments, only when he happens to catch it. Usually after another round of public fighting.

"Tomorrow," she says finally.

"I don't want there to be any surprises," he starts, feeling his words thick in his mouth, stumbling him. He turns his head to look at her.

She wipes her hand down her face and takes a deep breath. He can see the rise and fall of her chest; she's pushed the sheets back to her waist, as if she was hot.

He might like waking up with her tomorrow, if only he can get to sleep in time to do the waking. But in order to fall asleep, he's got to get this out of the way first.

Castle slides his feet out of bed and gets up, shuffling towards his bag in the darkness. To her credit, Kate doesn't ask him what he's doing. He pulls out his wallet from the dress pants he left piled there, then fishes out the piece of paper from the billfold.

He comes back to bed (oh, God, how he wants that, wants her), has to pause a moment sitting on the edge, then decides it's best not to get back under the covers with her while he does this.

Castle half-turns to her on the other side of the bed and hands it over. "Just. No surprises. For tomorrow."

Kate sits up, staring at him, then down at the folded up piece of paper. Many creases, well-folded, oft-handled. He wrote it the moment he was given the assignment, even though he maybe shouldn't have.

But he's a writer. He can't help it. It comes out despite himself.

Kate doesn't take the folded square. Instead, she gets out of bed and moves towards the tiny dresser in the corner, pulls out the top drawer, reaches inside. She withdraws a single-folded sheet of paper, runs her fingers along the edge as she turns.

She swallows and won't look at him, then silently, wordlessly, holds it out to him.

Castle tries to see what's in her eyes, but it's too dark in the room, there's too much distance between them. Still, he rises and reaches for it; she meets him halfway, leaning forward. Their fingers brush in the darkness, and they exchange their vows.

He grips the paper, hears it fluttering slightly with his shaking hand, his eyes on hers and trying to figure her out. But in the end, he can only open the sheet of paper and read what she's written, just as she does the same:

_Always._

* * *

><p>If she didn't know his writing so well, she'd be tempted to think that they screwed up when passing each other their notes.<p>

But no; she can't deny that the large block letters are his. She stares at the word for a good ten seconds, the early surprise turning into a _really, I should have known_ feeling, and a strangled sound falls from her lips - sob or laugh, she's not even sure herself.

She looks up at him, finds the curve of a smile on his face, and then, thank god, it's laughter - nervous and silent, but laughter still - shaking her shoulders.

Laughter, not tears.

When she stops to catch her breath, though, the tears are still there, a heavy, oppressing weight in her chest; she swallows, attempts to push back the detestable, vulnerable feeling.

Her eyes fall on the paper she's still holding - _Always_ - and she lets out a soft, shaky sigh, closing her eyes.

"Oh, Castle."

And then before she knows it she's moving, scrambling back onto the bed, and even if she doesn't know what she's doing her body does, her body knows what she needs, what they both need.

She finds him in the dark, her arms lacing around his neck, drawing him into a fierce hug; in her eagerness she crashes her chest against his, knocking the breath out of them both. He gasps softly, and his upper body stiffens, but after a second he relaxes in her arms and hugs back, meeting her urgency with tenderness.

His hands on her back are entirely too gentle.

"Kate," he breathes, his lips warm at her temple.

Yes.

She simply squeezes back, burying her nose in the crook of his neck, his blessed, familiar scent all around her, warm and so good.

They've been going about this the wrong way. He's right. They should talk; they should share the burden instead of wallowing in quiet misery, each on their own side like sulking children.

And maybe she's not ready for more, maybe she's not there yet, not good enough for him, but it doesn't mean that they can't do this. That they can't hug, can't comfort each other.

They can.

In fact, she has no intention of letting go.

She rests her cheek to Castle's, lets her body relax into his, shivering when his fingertips dig into her back as he fists a hand in her shirt. He must enjoy it just as much as she does, because for once he doesn't speak, doesn't seem to need words.

He simply rocks them both, light but soothing moves, as she clings onto him, lulled by the strong, even beats of his heart, the heat that his body radiates.

The broad line of his shoulders, so solid against her. A place to rest.

Castle.


	2. Chapter 2

**LOVE BOAT**

by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>"Castle."<p>

Mmm. Something feathers his cheek, soft and lovely, and he licks his dry lips, trying to decide if the voice, the touch, are worth waking up for.

It feels...early.

He swallows, his brain slowly registering the heat that surrounds him, cocoons his body. No problem; he loves the heat. He always sleeps with blankets piled up on top of him. Mm, yeah. He burrows into the bed - why is he awake again? - and attempts to remedy to this unfortunate turn of events.

"Castle."

Oh, yeah. The voice.

Familiar voice. He can just about see the face that goes with it-

"Castle, wake up. I need my arm back."

And a smile. Mm, there's a smile in that voice. He likes that. A lot.

Likes _her_. Kate.

A breath of deep contentment ripples through his chest. And then he realizes-

Oh. He's probably dreaming.

Shouldn't open his eyes then, not matter how tempting, how sexy that voice is. Keeping his eyelids carefully closed, he reaches out, finds soft fabric, goes up, up, to the smooth skin of the neck, the line of the jaw.

Nice. His dream has consistency too. It's the good stuff.

Taking advantage of that, he curls his fingers at the nape of this PhantomKate, and tugs, bringing her in for a kiss.

She falls into him with a surprised gasp (he's impressed at how realistic an impression his mind can create, considering he's not even completely awake yet), and he touches his mouth to hers gently, just a greeting, warm, moist, delightful.

Mm, Kate.

But then a sudden shove startles him, his eyes flying open as the momentum rolls him onto his back; he blinks a couple times in shock.

"Ow," Kate says through gritted teeth next to him, and he doesn't even need to turn his head to see her rub her wrist. It's all there, for him to see. Ceiling mirrors.

It makes everything a little surreal, watching it happen up there, his mouth hanging open as he stares at Kate's reflection.

"You slept on my arm, Castle," she explains, unaware it seems. She massages the skin from her wrist to her elbow, then focuses on her hand, hissing in discomfort as the blood rushes back to her fingers.

He cannot speak, can only gape dumbly as his brain struggles with this essential piece of information.

She's real.

Kate's real.

And she's lying in bed next to him, her dark curls an appealing tangle against the whiteness of the pillow, her thigh close enough to his that he can feel its warmth under the sheets.

She bites at her lip as she energetically rubs her hand and forearm, and her mouth is red and oh, so tempting-

He freezes.

Wait.

He kissed her.

But that was the dream. Right? That wasn't real. Couldn't be. If he really had kissed her, she wouldn't be lying here rubbing her arm like everything's fine, a small smile tugging at her lips, her whole face lit up like she's-

Happy?

"You're a pretty heavy sleeper, Castle," she remarks lightly, amusement dancing in the look that she gives him. "I wondered for a minute there if you were ever going to wake up."

"Sorry you had to take drastic measures," he answers without thinking.

She arches an eyebrow at him, her eyes suffused with incomprehension, more beautiful than anyone should be when they've just woken up.

"Like Prince Charming and Sleeping Beauty, you know," he keeps going, his mouth running away from him even as his mind screams _shut up shut up SHUT UP. "_Sorry you had to stoop to that."

She regards him curiously, lips parted, her eyes shining in the morning light. And then a slow, even smile spreads on her mouth, and she gives a little shake of her head.

"I wasn't the one doing the kissing, Castle," she replies softly, leaving him utterly speechless.

Before he's had time to wrap his mind around it, she's moving, pushing back the covers and swinging her legs out of bed, telling him she's going to have a shower - in other words, running.

It doesn't matter, though; doesn't make the smallest dent in the disbelieving joy that has wrapped around his heart.

He just kissed Kate Beckett.

And she doesn't seem to mind.

* * *

><p>Is she still smiling? Yeah, yeah she is.<p>

Still smiling.

Kate bites her lip and rolls her eyes, lifting her chin to let the hot water sluice down her hair. She lifts the mane off her neck to get it thoroughly soaked, then quickly lathers in shampoo. She turns, can't help still thinking of it, the unkind morning light refracting off the waves outside their stateroom, and yet his face bathed with gentleness, all forgiving shadows and distinguished lines.

It was only the deep ache in her arm that woke her, and only its continued throb that made her wake him at all. She might have stayed like that for. . .

awhile. She might have just stayed that way for awhile.

Yeah, still smiling.

He kissed her. Instinctive and reflexive and natural, a hum in his throat that she felt against her lips.

Her fingers are there now, as if to hold the feeling in, keep his kiss pressed to her lips.

That's ridiculous-

"Beckett?"

The door snicks open slightly; she pauses, blinks water from her eyes. "Castle?"

"I really, really have to pee. Can I come in?"

She chews on her lip, glances to the frosted shower door. If he thinks he can handle it. . .what can it hurt?

"Beckett. I mean, like, really have to pee."

"Come on in, then," she laughs, rinsing her hair as she calls back to him. "I don't care."

"Oh thank God."

She really tries hard not to listen. She is really not listening. Are they at this point already? Comfortable going to the bathroom in front of each other?

She lathers in conditioner, searches for her razor on the shelf behind her (and no, not because she's sleeping with him, it's just a courtesy because she's sleeping. . .with him. And because she shaves every day anyway. Right).

Well, with the shower running and the frosted door between them, and in an emergency circumstance. . .well, maybe they are at this point. It's not like he hasn't seen her naked in her bathtub (and told her he's got that image burned into his brain); they've been in some crappy and uncomfortable situations before.

Okay. She can do this. And-

She yelps as the water turns cold, the flush resounding in the small bathroom. She crowds away from the spray, shivering, goose bumps breaking out over her skin. "Castle!"

"Seriously? This place is crap, Beckett. Is it too hot or too cold? I should've ignored Gates and gotten us a suite. You think they have extras-?"

"Too cold. And leave it alone, Castle. It's fine," she growls back at him, reaching out a cautious hand to the water. Still cold. Ice cold. Like it's coming straight from the Atlantic.

"I mean, one flush and the water turns cold? That's crazy. How much is the NYPD paying for this? The taxpayers? Come on. As a concerned citizen-"

"Castle. Are you seriously still in here?" she snarks back, sticking a toe in the spray to check again. Maybe a little warmer now.

"I should stay to make sure the water heats up again. Cause if it doesn't, then-"

"Castle. Not another word," she yells back over the water.

"Going, going."

She hears the door click shut behind him and sighs, rolling her eyes. Trust Castle to. . .to _Castle_ a really sweet moment this morning.

As Kate steps back under the almost warm water, she realizes to her dismay that she's smiling. Still. Or again.

Smiling like a fool.

Jeez. They're supposed to be having problems in their marriage, not solving them.

* * *

><p>He didn't look.<p>

He barely even cast a tiny little glance at the shower stall, and really the door was all steamed up, didn't let him see anything past a vague outline.

Of course, he still has this vague outline on his mind as they go down for breakfast and he bounces down the corridor next to her, unable to help it, even when Kate gives him a raised eyebrow.

The joy needs out somehow.

They make their way downstairs, saying hello to a slightly older couple that they met briefly the day before, and Castle is struck by how very different today is - what a bright contrast it offers to the somber misery of yesterday.

Amazing, really, what a good night of sleep and a smiling Kate Beckett can do to him.

And let's not forget that kiss, either.

An experience he finds himself... very eager to repeat. Who knows? Maybe their therapy session will provide the perfect opportunity.

The thought makes him grin, although deep down he knows that it's rather unlikely.

Their therapist, Alicia, is a soft-spoken, forty-something brunette, short and slim, whom he rather likes, actually. And he doesn't think she's the sort to play games with them.

They get to the main dining room - the Magenta room, as it's pompously called - and Castle remembers at the last minute to grab Kate's hand, lace their fingers. She's his wife, after all, right?

Just thinking the words, even if it's fake, even if it's a cover, sends a rush of delight through his chest. And then the kiss this morning-

Focus, Rick.

Kate not only lets him take her hand, but she gives a little squeeze back, meets his eyes with a smile. Partners.

Oh god, he loves her.

It thumps in his chest, the fierceness of it, the savage need, and he steers them towards the buffet, hoping that food will make for a worthy distraction.

It is absolutely *amazing* the number of breakfast options they're offered here. Seriously. Of course, lunch and dinner are technically just as impressive, but breakfast, for some reason, simply blows his mind away.

He's been in really, _really_ fancy hotels when he was on book tours - even when he wasn't - and he's had wonderful breakfasts before, but honestly, he's never seen anything like this.

He can almost feel Kate's teasing smile at his side, but he ignores her.

She's still making fun of him because of yesterday. He has to admit, when he first saw the breakfast buffet, he may have lost it a little; and yes, he *did* say he had to taste _everything_.

Kate laughed at him, told him he'd never manage - and it turned out, to his eternal shame, that she was right.

So he's come up with a smarter plan: they have three days, which means he'll try a different third of the buffet every morning. Much more feasible.

"You sure you have enough, Rick?" Kate teases when he sits down at the table in front of her, two generously filled plates on his tray. "I wouldn't want you to starve until lunch. You know, in _four hours_."

"You're just jealous cause I got strawberries and you don't," he shoots back lightly, popping one of the fruits into his mouth.

"Jealous, huh?"

The challenging light in her eyes, the pressed-lip smile: he knows exactly what she's about to do. And the second her arm darts forward, he's scooped up the bowl of strawberries and cradled it to his chest, out of her reach.

"Not-uh, Kate," he mock scolds, enjoying it all the more because he knows how much she hates being treated like a child. "You want strawberries? You go get your own. Darling," he adds for good measure as a couple sits down next to them.

She narrows her eyes at him; he's not sure if she's responding to the darling part of the sentence, or the rest - probably both. He only grins, rather pleased with himself, until-

He sucks in a sharp breath. Was that - was that a toe? Trailing down his calf? Oh. Oh, yeah. Because now the ball of her foot is slowly caressing his ankle, nudging at the leg of his pant to get to the bare, sensitive skin underneath, and damn it, Kate-

"Really?" she purrs, and he focuses on her with some difficulty. It doesn't help - her eyes are shining with amusement, that soft glow of triumph and power all over her face, and she's absolutely-

Irresistible.

"Are you sure, Rick? You can't even give me a tiny, tiny-" her toe presses against the round bone, nail grazing his skin, and he firmly closes his mouth against the whimper that wants out, "-_tiny_ strawberry?"

Oh jeez. Oh god. She's not playing fair.

He parts his lips, desperate for air, his whole body turning traitor on him, and his brain vaguely registers a clattering sound, somewhere around him. Kate laughs - low and delightful and god, *so* sexy - and as her foot deserts him (oh, why?) comprehension slowly floods his brain.

He reluctantly tears his eyes from her to the bowl and the strawberries scattered on the floor, his heart suddenly filled with a desolation that doesn't have much to do with the fruit.

"Well," Kate says, her voice bright with the laughter she's clearly fighting back, "I guess I'll have to get my own, then."

She gets to her feet in a smooth, graceful transition, and gives him a last laughing look before she turns her back on him and heads for the buffet. He can only stare at the lovely sway of her hips in those tight jeans, the adorable curve of her waist in that white, fitted shirt.

She's doing this on purpose.

Taunting him.

Well. Two can play at that game.

* * *

><p>Kate brings back two bowls of strawberries from the buffet line - it takes longer than she likes, but it's worth it. She did inadvertently cause him to lose all of his fruit, so she owes him. Much like coffee. Coffee. Back to her coffee, still untouched on her tray across from Castle.<p>

A few more people have filled in the spaces on the long tables, though not many have joined up, not that she can detect. She tries to pay attention to the wait staff as they thread through the dining room, but it's impossible to ferret out any malignant attitudes in this group.

A cluster of couples have taken up the far end of their table, chairs all pushed back, loud voices, too-loud laughter, and Kate's seat will be hard to get back to. Instead of taking her spot across from Castle, she slips in beside him, pulls her tray over to herself.

He's eyeing the fruit, so Kate drops a bowl in front of him with a smile. "All yours."

His eyebrow twitches, and she's fairly certain he hasn't exactly recovered from the stunt she pulled. That was nice; it feels good to tease again, to not walk on egg shells around him.

_Always._

One simple word, and everything is clear. They're on the same page and there's no need to worry. He-

She startles, clutching the table, one hand arrested in mid-air with her coffee. Her eyes slide to Castle, but he's looking extremely nonchalant.

But his fingertips are on her knee, her thigh. Her-

She swallows a too-hot sip of coffee and chokes as it burns down her throat.

"Let it cool," he chides, taking the cup from her nerveless fingers with his other hand - other hand! - and smoothing his thumb over her kneecap. Like it's every day. Like it's-

His hand on her knee.

She pushes her tongue to her teeth to scrape her scalded taste buds, feels his hand clench around her knee - in warning or instinct, she can't tell. But really? Just her tongue?

Kate glances over at him, sees the way the power has shifted again. Back in her favor.

"I think I burned my tongue," she murmurs, lowering her lids so that her lashes fan her cheeks for a moment.

He's still got her coffee cup in one hand, and her thigh in the other (seriously, jeez, Castle), but he's staring at her lips, at the way her tongue moves against her teeth.

"Need - need me to check?" he says finally, leaning in.

"Oh, seriously, get a room," a man says with a laugh, plopping his tray down across from them.

Kate sees Castle startle, but she'd seen the man eyeing her while she was in line and honestly isn't surprised to find him showing up here. Though it is ballsy.

Castle sets her coffee back down by her plate, slides his hand (slowly, thank you, slowly) from her leg.

"I thought this cruise was for couples whose marriages were in trouble, but you guys have made up already, haven't you?" The dark-haired guy grins at them, and Kate is disconcerted by the strange image of Josh laid over his features. Beside her, Castle grows still, a sure sign of his growing dislike.

"Mm, comes and goes," Kate says instead, quirking an eyebrow at Castle to get him to follow the program.

He does, to his credit, and offers his hand across the table. "Rick. And you are?"

The man shakes. "Josh."

_Seriously?_ Damn it.

"Nice to meet you. Saw your wife in line-"

Bet he did.

"-thought you maybe looked familiar-"

Shit. Is that a line or is that Castle's narrow fame following them?

"-but I guess we haven't met."

That's her cue to introduce herself, and for some reason, Kate feels entirely unwilling. Castle, always the social butterfly, only smiles back (at least it's his fake, charming smile) and slides his hand down the back of Kate's arm, does the introduction for her.

"This is Kate. And yeah, you know how it is, the good days are good and the bad days are bad."

She sucks in a breath and glances over at him, because that statement was just too true, too real, for it to not have some anchor in reality.

He's watching her again, his eyes communicating things she doesn't know if she's deciphering correctly. But she thinks, with a rush of relief, that he wasn't talking about her at all. He was talking from troubled relationship experience, from two previous divorces.

Not about her.

She breathes out slowly, turns her head back to Josh. With the dark hair and broad jaw and same cheekbones.

"So where's your wife?" she asks bluntly.

Why can't the passengers be murder suspects too?

* * *

><p>Unbelievable.<p>

This guy is *unbelievable*.

Josh II (whose resemblance to Josh I is certainly not doing anything to mitigate Castle's irritation) has been hitting on Kate - _shamelessly_ hitting on Kate, might he add - for the last ten minutes, and nothing they can do or say seems to discourage him.

After the guy gave them a lame explanation for his wife's whereabouts, something about not wanting to wake her, he started to ask about Kate's job, which led to Rick's first mistake.

See, the NYPD prepared covers for them. Nice little covers that go with the fake IDs (they go by the name of Rodgers, which, of course, Castle is delighted with). Only-

Kate is supposed to work for a bank. Seriously. That's what the file said. Kate Rodgers, bank employee. But no one's going to buy that, right? This smart, gorgeous woman - working at a bank?

Besides, it's entirely too boring. Castle could weave a better story in his sleep.

So he saw fit to jump in before she could answer, and to tell Josh that his wife (heavy emphasis on the word _wife_) is a professor of Russian Literature at the University of Columbia.

When he saw the look on Kate's face, he realized it might have been better to keep his mouth shut. He didn't know how right he was.

The problem isn't Kate. No, Kate is amazing, as always; she's answered all of Josh's questions with seamless ease and confidence, talking about Chekhov and Tolstoy as if she's actually been teaching classes about them for the last few years. She's-

Brilliant. Stunning. And sexy as hell.

Problem is - he's not the only one who thinks so.

"So, Josh," Rick interrupts when he gets a chance, saving Kate from having to answer that stupid question, _who's your favorite author and why. _"What is it you do, exactly?"

The man flashes him a too-white smile, a little shark-like, if you ask him. "I'm a stockbroker. I work in Wall Street."

The way he says it - like no other explanation is needed, like it's an end in itself, the best career one could ever want - it makes Castle want to punch him a little. Okay, more than a little.

At least for Davidson he had a sort of grudging respect; he might not have *liked* the guy, but he could acknowledge he had some qualities, could admit that he seemed to love Kate, in his own way. Not to mention he kinda saved her life, too.

But Josh II?

The guy is, purely and simply, an ass. What kind of man comes to a cruise for marriages in trouble to hit on other women? Women who are _clearly_ not interested?

"And you, Rick?"

He feels Kate's eyes on him as he weighs his answer. Damn. He should probably stick with their cover this time.

"I'm a lawyer."

Josh gives him a condescending little smile. "Ah, a noble profession. People who have been wronged need someone to fight for them, I guess. Unless, you know - they're making it up. I guess it must happen a lot?"

Oh, lovely. He's now accused of defending liars and villains.

"It happens," he says evenly.

"And what do you specialize in? Family law, criminal-?"

"Business law," Castle cuts him off, curious to see where _that_ will lead.

"I see," Josh replies, looking like he couldn't care less. His brown eyes are on Kate again, and Rick doesn't like what he sees there.

"You don't find that too boring?" the man asks her with an unabashed grin, nodding towards the writer.

Castle is looking at Kate too, and he catches a slight movement under the table. Dropping his eyes, he realizes the hand in her lap is a clenched fist.

Really?

"Actually, Rick is very good at what he does," she answers coolly, ice in her green eyes.

"I'm sure he is," the man answers, looking rather pleased with himself. "But that's not what I asked."

Oh, wow. Doesn't this guy have any survival instinct? Castle almost feels sorry for him. You do *not* want to cross Beckett when she's using that voice. The deadly voice.

He's surprised, though, when she ignores Josh II completely and turns to him.

"Shouldn't we go? It's almost time for our session."

He glances at his watch. She's right; he feels a twinge of regret for the food that's left on his tray, but he's happy enough to leave their new 'friend' behind.

"Oh, where's your session?" Josh asks with another of his toothy smiles. "If it's on the deck above this one, I'll walk with you - I have a friend who wants to meet at the pool -"

Kate shoots him an appalled look as they stand, but then her eyes are on Castle again, thoughtful and somewhat hesitant; he arches an eyebrow, wondering what she is -

Her index finger on the corner of his mouth cuts that thought off, sends his mind spiraling.

"You had some - jam, left," she explains, her long lashes shadowing her eyes, but not enough to keep him from seeing it - this dark, entrancing look -

Before he's made sense of it, though, she's already kissing him.

Her hand slides up his neck, fingers splaying on his nape as she raises on tiptoe (to make up for the lack of heels?); he catches her, the delicious length of her body flush with his, as his lips part for her.

He might not have seen it coming, but that doesn't mean he's not going to make the most of it. The slow heat between their bodies, the slide of her tongue across his lower lip, against his teeth, the soft hum of pleasure that only he can hear - he takes every little thing she offers, gives back, dizzy with the taste of Kate Beckett on his tongue.

And when she lets go - when he lets her go - he feels the shiver run through her.

"Let's go, Rick," she whispers without looking at him, licking her lips (so _hot_, the way she does that). She takes his hand and starts leading him out, only throwing a careless "See you later," to Josh II.

Castle doesn't even need to see the guy's face.

The second they find themselves alone, in the corridor that leads to their therapist's office, Kate drops his hand and turns uneasy eyes to him.

"I'm sorry, Castle - I didn't know how else to get rid of him-"

He silences her with his mouth, his fingers at her jaw, working her just as skillfully as she worked him - gentle lips and aggressive tongue, an edge of need and a good deal of tenderness.

She looks stunned when he releases her. And he doesn't even care.

"Don't ever apologize for that," he commands softly; and then he takes her hand again, and directs them both towards their therapy session.


	3. Chapter 3

**LOVE BOAT**

by **Sandiane Carter **and** chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>With that kiss still lingering in the air between them, her lips tingling, Kate stops him outside the door, her fingers to the crook of his elbow. With the hand still wrapped around hers, he squeezes back a question.<p>

She takes a breath, glances at the door. Things need to be said first.

Kate shakes off his hand so that she can face him without tethers. "Before we. . .do this. Castle. The cover-"

"I know; I got it. I promise. I'll stop rewriting the story," he says, giving her a little grin.

"No. I - " Kate bites her lip, grins back at him. "You tell a better story," she murmurs. "So don't worry about that."

"Yeah?" His smirk grows wider. Too much ego-stroking going on here, she thinks, but she can't help the smile that struggles to escape.

"I was going to say that our cover - the problem in our. . .marriage." She takes another breath, remembers the folded sheet of paper on which he wrote their promise. It helps. "It won't fly. You? A workaholic?"

His lips twitch. "Yeah."

"So."

"We can make it work," he offers.

Kate runs a hand through her hair, some of it still wet at the back of her neck. "No. When I wrote that yesterday-"

Castle makes a noise, maybe involuntarily, but it draws her eyes to him. She watches him a moment, knows this is right.

"I'm going to be as truthful as I can in there, Castle, because I can't spend my time wondering what's true and what's just a cover. The fights in the halls are bad enough," she says softly, averting her eyes.

She waits, because she has to have his agreement in there for this to work.

"You want me to be honest as well," he says, his voice low, grave. "Are you sure you really want that?"

No. Oh God, no. But what else is there?

"Castle, I'm already in therapy," she laughs, and even to her own ears it sounds forced. "I know how this works. It will start out surface. But soon, the questions go deeper, you end up telling her things, slipping in real details because the cover can't possibly be rich enough. . ."

"You mean, we'll give out bits and pieces of the truth anyway."

Kate nods briskly, shoves a hand through her hair again, hoping it will dry quickly. "I just need you to know that what I say - I don't want to hurt you." She bites her lip, can't look away from him; he has to know. Has to understand. "I don't want to make this harder for either of us-"

"You've read my vows, Kate."

She sucks in a surprised breath, the block print _Always_ flickering into her mind's eye. "Yes."

"Then you know."

He's watching her carefully, too carefully, meaning in everything, and she does know. She knows. And now he does too.

"Yes," she says finally, confirmation and apology both, determined to take the consequences, to face him for what she's done.

Instead of sorrow, instead of hurt, Castle's eyes fill up with relief. A burden lightened, shared, rather than going at it alone.

His palm at her neck is a surprise, warm and electric; she can't break away from his gaze. But he doesn't kiss her, not this time; he pulls her towards him, yes, and her eyes stray to his mouth, but she misses, his hand directing her head, her body, to lean against his.

A hug. Of course.

Kate slides her arms up his back, her hands at his shoulder blades, embracing him, her own relief washing over her. It's okay; they're okay. He was right, last night, when he said _no surprises_. It's better this way.

* * *

><p>It's really not that bad.<p>

Their therapist, Alicia, reminds them again that there are 15 therapists on board the _Gem_, and that they may, at any time, request a different therapist if they feel her approach isn't paying off for them. Alicia smiles as she says it, soft and warm and welcoming, and then she begins putting them at ease with the simple questions.

Like Kate expected, they're surface, no big deal. Nothing they can't handle.

From the quick prep work they did back in New York, Castle takes the lead. He's the one who charms so easily, can lie so smoothly - embellish, as he called it - and it's natural for them as well, letting Castle fill in the details, be social, while Kate hangs back, observing and reserved.

A few questions are directed her way; she manages quick answers, always looking to him for that moment of affirmation. She doesn't want to ruin the story he's embellished in his head; she wants to help maintain the cover.

Alicia picks up a leather writing pad with legal sized, yellow notepaper attached, a kind of signal that the real fun's about to begin.

Kate gets the first hard question. And it's not even really a question.

"Kate, you look much more relaxed this morning compared to yesterday. Your body language is open when you talk with Rick, though still not with me." Alicia gives a knowing little laugh, as if to say that's completely all right. "What's changed?"

Everything.

"It's easier. Knowing."

Alicia's eyes stay an eternal brown, open with innocence. Trust. But it doesn't mean she's not a murder suspect. Kate hardens her heart against the woman, but tries to lean back in her seat, adopt a more open posture.

"Well, there's some improvement. You've had therapy before?"

It's that obvious? "Yes." She hesitates. "Went back recently."

"About Rick?"

Oh, shit. "Among other things."

"Why is that?"

"I needed it."

"That's a wonderfully self-aware statement," Alicia comments, her pen at rest in her fingers. "What made you come to this conclusion?"

Castle. She shifts her glance to him, remembers his promise. Her promise. "He. . .depends on me. I have to be able to. . ." Protect him. Not let him get shot. ". . .have his back."

"Partners," Castle murmurs, drawing her eyes back to him. He's giving her one of those quirks of his mouth where he's trying not to smile too big. She can't help the answering smile that spreads across her face.

"I see," Alicia says, making a note.

Oh, but she can't possibly. How can she? A wealth of history lies between Castle and Beckett, Kate and Rick, and one small question, carefully answered, can't possibly explain.

"So whose idea was it to come on a couples' marriage counseling cruise?" Alicia says into the silence.

Kate slides her eyes to Castle and he's already opening his mouth to answer. "Me."

"Kate, why did you agree?"

_It's my job; I owe the Mayor_ certainly won't cut it. "I owe. . .him."

"To try?"

"Yes." That as well. She has been trying; the wall grows shorter, less sturdy every day.

"Why do you think Rick wanted to come? To share your problems in a public forum and subject both of you to these silly games they have you play? It's not really much of a vacation. So why do you think Rick wanted to come, wanted you here with him?"

Oh. Why does he want her with him? Too easy, and so hard to say.

Kate smooths a hand down her jean-clad thigh, does Castle the courtesy of looking him in the eye when she answers.

"Because he. . .loves me."

* * *

><p>Castle walks out of the therapy session shaken. But it's a good kind of shaken.<p>

He'd been suspecting for a while that she remembered more than she let on about that terrible day in the cemetery (he still has dreams about it, and they're not pretty).

When she took him aside before the session - he knew then.

Knew that she knew, either from memory, or because he's done such a poor job of hiding lately. She knows that he loves her.

And he's glad for it.

He never wanted to take it back after she was shot, not once. He wanted it to be out there, wanted her to know - know that he was going to stick around, that she could count on him always, no matter what, even if she didn't feel the same.

Even if she wasn't ready.

And she does know. Which he is grateful for, seriously.

It keeps spilling out of him anyway; the coffees, the looks, the little touches. And today, the kisses. He tries to smother a grin, without much result; Kate gives him an arched eyebrow, slows down, forcing him to do the same.

"You okay, Castle?" she asks in a low voice, eyes watchful, concerned. Beautiful.

How can she ask? She actually admitted out loud that he loves her. It doesn't get much better than that.

"I'm good," he answers lightly, knowing that his face is open for her to see - exactly how _good_ he feels.

He doesn't squirm under her gaze, simply holds it, telling her without words for once.

How he loves her.

She does that cute little trick - eyes flicking down to his mouth, back up to his - and a ghost of a smile touches her lips.

"Okay," she says quietly. And she does it *again*, before turning away from him with what he swears is a tiny sigh.

"Let's go investigate then, until we have to be at that stupid group meeting thing."

He follows willingly, the smile on his face widening.

Looks like the kisses want to spill out of her, too.

* * *

><p>Kate wants to speak with the man who tended the bar last night, whatever his name was, but it quickly becomes obvious that finding a particular member of the crew without asking for him (which the detective has deemed a too obvious course of action) is nearly impossible.<p>

Castle leans against the wall of a corridor as his partner chews on her lower lip, clearly frustrated with their lack of a result.

"Damn ship is too big," she curses between her teeth. "It's not like we can _do_ anything, just the two of us, with all these stupid couple-y things to go to-"

He doesn't share her annoyance - he cannot, not when her taste lingers in his mouth, not when he still hears her voice answer with only a hint of hesitation, _because he - loves me _- and suddenly it seems ridiculously important to get her as relaxed and comfortable as he feels.

"Come on," he says, pushing himself off the wall and taking her hand in the process, just because he can.

"Where are we going?" she asks, but he notices with satisfaction that she follows him, despite the skepticism in her voice. "Another one of your brilliant theories?"

He can hear the _Castle_ she refrains from adding, just in case anyone should hear them, and that only makes grin.

"Nope."

Her hand tightens on his, and she makes him stop.

"Castle," she scolds quietly - and though he knows why she's keeping her voice down, it doesn't keep him from enjoying the so-soft sound in her mouth, and imagining it in a more...intimate setting. "We don't have time to play games."

He schools his face into a more serious expression, lets her know that he's hearing her.

"I'm not playing games, Kate. But honestly-" he drops his voice too, steps closer as he glances around to check that they're alone, "-we don't even know that it's murder, and not just drunkenness. The mayor knew it was a long shot to send us here; he was just trying to set his friend's daughter's mind at rest."

"So what are you suggesting? That we stop looking and just pretend that we didn't find anything?"

As if he didn't know better; as if he didn't know that Kate Beckett never gives up.

"Of course not, Kate. I'm saying, no one is expecting a miracle here. Bob wants us to give it a shot, do our best in what little time we have. If we do find something suspicious, then good - but if we don't, that works too. And spending our day looking for this Martin guy? I don't think that's gonna help."

She presses her lips together, but he can see in her eyes that she's conceding him the point.

"You have a better idea?"

He smiles, lacing their fingers and relishing the easy, familiar touch.

"Come with me."

* * *

><p>She lets Castle lead them to the small café on deck 7, sits at a table in the corner while he goes and orders for both of them. He knows what she likes, and he's right in thinking that it's sometimes easier to get someone to chat when you're on your own.<p>

Kate watches him for a moment, the large expanse of his back, the play of muscle as he leans in against the counter. He's wearing a new shirt, or at least one she hasn't seen before (and by now, she's pretty familiar with most of his wardrobe). From a distance, this one looks a clear grey, though she knows it's really thin black stripes against the white fabric that create that effect.

It suits him - the almost-grey compliments his eyes.

A young waitress stops by her table to dust nonexistent crumbs, and Kate's eyes shift to her. She must be somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-eight; pretty enough, with very dark eyes and a name tag that says _Ellie. _

When the detective thanks her, the young woman gives her a bright smile, having obviously been waiting for an opening. "I love your shirt," she says enthusiastically. "You didn't buy it in the shop here, did you?"

"No, sorry," Kate laughs. "I'm not even sure where I bought it. I've had it for a while."

"Ah, that's okay," Ellie answers gaily. "It's lovely, so I thought it was worth asking. Is that your husband?" she asks shyly, with a glance at Castle.

Kate's stomach flips, even though it really shouldn't.

"Yes," she lies easily, her eyes finding her partner as she speaks. He's chatting up the guy at the counter, his body language open and trusting like only Castle's can be.

"He seems very nice," the waitress says with a smile. "Although, you might want to warn him - it's been a while since I've seen Rob this friendly with anyone."

Kate cuts her eyes to Ellie, surprised, sees the contained laughter in the woman's eyes.

Oh.

"Really?" she asks, a flutter of amusement in her chest. She looks back at the counter, seeing the whole picture and noticing all the little details that she missed, focused as she was on Castle. This guy - Rob, Ellie said - well, his posture definitely speaks of a pronounced interest.

How delightful.

"Uh-huh," the young woman replies. "Your husband might even need rescuing at some point."

Kate's eyes linger on the scene, but she's way too entertained to consider moving. She always said Castle was metrosexual.

"I think I'm gonna let him figure this one out on his own," she murmurs to herself.

Ellie chuckles, then presses her hand to her mouth, blushing.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be disrespectful-"

"It's fine," Kate smiles. She can't imagine how sensitive the girl's usual customers must be, if she feels the need to apologize for this. "Do you enjoy working here?" she asks curiously, without thinking. Much.

The waitress shrugs, glances around - probably making sure her manager isn't here. "It has its days," she answers honestly. "I love the sea, so the living on a boat part really appeals to me. And the customers can be nice, when they're not-"

"Too full of themselves?" Kate offers.

Ellie's blush deepens. "I shouldn't talk like this."

"I won't tell," the detective assures her gently.

"You're so...different," the young woman observes with a puzzled expression. "I could tell, before you even spoke a work to me."

"Ah. I guess," Kate hesitates, then realizes that the truth will probably help, in this case. "This isn't really my world. My - my husband is the one with the money."

"Oh. I didn't mean-"

"-to be disrespectful," Kate finishes with her, half-tempted to laugh. "I know."

"Sorry," Ellie says with a self-conscious smile. "It's hard to stop."

"How long have you worked here?" the detective asks, as naturally as she can.

"A year and - well, almost two years, actually."

"So you were here, when this man - I can't remember what the name was - drowned during his honeymoon? I've heard a group of women discussing it at breakfast, and that sounded like an awful story-"

Kate lets her voice trail off, struck by the flash of panic that crosses Ellie's eyes, the sudden disappearance of the smile.

"We're not supposed to-" she whispers in a hurried voice, but Castle chooses that moment to appear at the table with their cups of coffee. The waitress closes her mouth, looks from one to the other, then decamps before Kate's had time to say a word.

"Did I interrupt something?" he asks, eyebrows raised, as he sits down and blows on the steaming liquid.

"As a matter of fact, you did," Kate answers, watching the door through which Ellie vanished. But she doesn't manage to sound upset; she's too intrigued, the excitement, the thrill of a lead running through her veins. "But seeing as you were right to bring us up here, I might be able to forgive you."

* * *

><p>Castle places their empty cups on the counter, nods to Robert as the man comes over with a friendly smile to collect them.<p>

"Thanks, man," Robert says, grabbing the cups.

"I figure it makes your life a bit easier if we bus our own table, right?" Castle grins back, feels Kate's fingers at his waist. He turns to her in surprise; she's at his side, soft smile, nodding towards the exit. He watches her head out, then glances back to Robert with a good-bye.

"That's your. . .wife?" Robert says, eyebrows knitting together.

Castle realizes he's hesitating, but the flip of his stomach when people call her his wife is just too much to speak past. He nods. "Yeah. Kate. Sorry, should have introduced you."

"Ah, no," Robert tosses off, shaking his head. "It's fine."

Castle feels a nudge under his feet, like he's on a surfboard getting bumped by a shark, grips the counter with both hands, startled eyes flying to Robert's. "What was that?"

"Probably some rough weather ahead. Choppy seas. Sometimes you can feel it; most times you can't."

"Choppy seas?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "How. . .uh, do you often get bad weather?"

"Sometimes. Seriously, man, nothing to worry about. I promise."

Castle feels the roll of the deck under his feet again. "I - uh - I've never been on a cruise before. This is new."

Robert smiles at him, a little too dazzling, really. "You'll be fine. Go on to your next meeting. I'm sure I'll. . .see you around."

"Yeah, sure. Oh, speaking of things to worry about-" Castle pretends he's just remembering, leans a hip against the counter so he can lower his voice. "What have you heard about that guy who disappeared a few months ago? He was on this ship, wasn't he? You think he pitched overboard in rough weather?"

Robert's mouth flattens, his eyes shift to one side, then back to Castle with a little weakening. "Yeah, no. We had smooth sailing for his cruise."

"Freaky, right? Have they found the guy's body?"

Robert shakes his head, seems to hold some inner debate, then leans in as well, coming much closer than Castle expected. Rick pulls back at first, then forces himself not to move. Robert knows something; he can tell.

The guy traces circles on the countertop with his finger, his eyes intent on Castle's. "They never found the body. But you ask me? They won't. He wasn't just drunk, if you know what I mean."

Not just drunk? "Drugs?" Castle murmurs, tilting his head.

Robert scratches at the counter with his nail, and Castle finds himself transfixed by the nervous gesture. Is he burdened with guilt? Is he selling drugs - did he sell them to Jennifer's MIA husband? Did he-

"You know. I hear things." A shrug of the shoulders allows Robert to lay his hand over Castle's on the counter; Rick's heart stops.

Ah.

Okay.

Didn't see that coming.

Castle clears his throat. "My - my wife's waiting on me. I should catch up." He slides his hand out from under Robert's, can't look at the guy as he moves away, turns around and heads for the door.

Kate is waiting just outside, a grin so wide, so enchantingly delighted that he knows she knows.

"You *let* that happen," he hisses at her, grabbing her hand to pull her further away from the cafe. "You knew the whole time, and you didn't warn me?"

"Mm," she murmurs, pressing her lips together as if to keep from laughing at him. "Figured you get more out of him if you let him think he had a chance."

"Kate," he growls at her, narrowing his eyes. "Flattered, really, but I'm here with my wife! What exactly was he thinking?"

"You're flattered?" she laughs, teeth biting her lower lip.

Rick flashes her a grin. "Well, I *am* ruggedly handsome."

The smirk of her lips reaches a full-fledged grin; Kate shakes off his hand to brush her fingers through his hair, a light tickle of her fingers really, nothing more, but it makes his chest tight.

"You are," she admits, then grins again, the tenderness gone, replaced with amusement. "Just what Robert is looking for in a man."

He narrows his eyes at her again, reaches out to grab her by the waist, but she expertly avoids his grasp.

"Not-uh, Rick. Time for our group meeting." She shakes a finger at him.

At that moment, the deck rolls under their feet, a shiver to match the flicker of the lights around them. He feels Kate's fingers wrap around his forearm, as if to hold on to him.

"Don't want to lose you in the dark," she mutters. "What is the deal with the pitching-?"

"It's kinda cool, isn't it?" He grins at her as the deck seems to righten itself, the lights returning to full strength. "Robert says it's just choppy seas."

"Oooh, Robert says, huh?"

Castle flips his wrist so he can grab her by the hand. "Shut it. We have a group meeting, Mrs. Rodgers. Let's get going."

She laughs again, but doesn't shake off his hand, starts leading him down the hall.


	4. Chapter 4

**LOVE BOAT**

by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Kate glances at Castle in trepidation, not sure about this. Their group leader - Tony - is at the front of the room with a wireless mike like an aerobics instructor, trying to cheer everyone along. The room was already crowded when they arrived; about thirty couples had assembled, including the annoying Josh and his wife, Violet, who constantly checks her phone and has to step out of the room to make a call every few minutes.<p>

Tony has already divided them into smaller groups around the room for what he calls ice-breakers. Castle is at her right, but the circle comprises three other couples, and of course, Josh and Violet are in their group as well. Of course.

The stunt she pulled with Castle earlier doesn't seem to have dampened Josh's smarmy seduction routine. He tries to angle a spot at her left, but Kate shuffles Castle to one side, flips places with him, and Josh ends up at his left instead.

Safe.

After some confusion on the other side of the room, Tony has everyone in their circle put out their right hands. "As if you're doing the Hokey Pokey!" Tony calls. Someone behind Kate calls out, "Is this what it's all about?" and a host of people laugh.

It's not that funny. She's got her right hand in the middle of the circle; she glances to Castle and sees that Violet has switched places with Josh when Kate wasn't looking. The woman is sliding her phone into her knee-high boots, smoothing her tight leggings with a hand. Violet lifts up, eases her hand into the circle with a look directly at Castle.

Kate catches her breath, looks away, happens to see Josh watching her intently.

Ah. So. This is how they are.

Castle bumps his shoulder into hers; she looks at him, and he wiggles his eyebrows. She lets her smile return, shaking her head at him.

"Okay, now left hands go in." Kate obliges, everyone's hands suddenly in a mixture together.

"All right, everyone grab a hand. And NOT the person next to you, not BOTH of the same person's hand. That's cheating." Tony leaps off the stage at the front of the room and starts directing the groups from the center.

Kate feels a hand grab hers insistently, looks up to see Josh. Of course.

Castle shifts closer to her.

"Everyone got it? Good. Both hands, guys. Not the same person, mind you." Tony is circling the room like a shark; he gets to their group and claps Castle on the shoulder. "Good, good. You got it."

Her left hand is taken by a woman across the way; Castle has Josh's left, Kate notices. He must have struck fast to do that. Thank goodness. She's not sure Josh would've obeyed the rules on that one, with that look in his eye.

She's also perversely glad that Violet is standing next to Castle - they can't hold hands that way either.

With everyone gripping another person's hand across the circle, their group is a tangled knot pressed in together. Castle at her left is so close she can feel every rise and fall of his chest; her shoulder is wedged up under his armpit as her left arm extends across the circle. To Josh. Damn it.

Castle turns and glances down at her; he looks entirely too amused. "Okay. Now what?" he whispers. His mouth is so close, his eyes glittering with that childlike anticipation.

Kate lifts up on her toes, just so she can adjust her straining arm, that's all, not to put her mouth closer to his, not at all-

"All right. Here's the rules. You can't break hands, can't let go. On the count of three, your group has to work together to untangle every single person. The first group to make it back into the circle formation, hands joined, is the winner."

Oh no. No. Kate Beckett is seriously not going to play this game.

Castle bounces on his toes next to her. "Awesome."

"One. . ."

No.

"Two. . ."

She will *not* do this.

"Three!"

A surge of pulling, tugging hands nearly yanks her right off her feet. Castle is calling out over the barking commands some guy across from them is giving out, and then Kate can feel Josh's thumb caressing the back of her hand. She glares at him, hard, jerks her hand back.

"No, Kate-" Castle nudges her. "Can't break hands. Here, you go under my arm and towards Josh."

"Are you kidding me?" she hisses at him.

"It's just a game," he says quietly. Then he grins. "We can so win this."

Kate presses her lips together and glances over her shoulder. The other groups are equally as unorganized, but a man near the front with the first group seems to be getting his people together.

So Kate ducks under Castle's arm, surveys the tangle of arms and hands, her left shoulder wrenched as the woman holding her hand gets pulled away as well.

Kate narrows her eyes, studies the arms, the connections. Castle is twisting around; Violet suddenly spins and Josh is at her side, turned backwards, his left arm pulled behind him across the circle. He's trying to look coy and clever, but he actually looks to be in quite a lot of discomfort.

The faster she gets their motley group untangled, the faster she is *not* holding hands with this guy.

Okay. So she's doing this.

Kate whistles sharply and their group falls silent, stunned. She glares at the man across from Castle who'd been barking out orders. "Here's what we do. One at a time. Hands linked together on top go first. Who's this?"

Kate nods her head at the top clasped hands, two women raise them up a little.

"Fine. You two stay there, the rest of us duck. You two - is it Marie? Yes. Marie, you and your partner walk backwards, go over the heads of - ?"

"Jason," the barker says with a begrudging respect. He nods towards the quiet woman at his right. "Jess."

"Go over Jason and Jess's heads. Got it?"

Marie nods.

Beside her, Castle flashes her a grin, eyes so gleeful that some of her sour mood dissipates.

"All right guys, duck."

* * *

><p>By the time the game is over, Kate has become quite the popular kid.<p>

Amazing, Castle thinks as they head over to lunch, how everyone, even adults, even the serious-looking ones, likes a good win.

"Hey, Kate," one of the women calls when they come in - Jess, if he remembers well. "Good job in there," she says with a shy smile, before turning to grab a tray and get in line.

The detective only answers with a small nod, but Castle gloats, so very pleased that they've won, and even more satisfied that they won thanks to his -

Kate. _Kate._

Not his wife.

He's just, confused. Because everyone's been calling her that. His wife. That's all. All there is to it.

"Rick," she calls sharply, something like weariness in her eyes.

He snaps out of it, realizing that she's been waiting for him to pick up his own tray and follow. He diligently does so, murmuring a word of apology to the people behind him, and when he turns, Kate is gone.

His eyes find her quickly, trained as they are to know the long line of the legs, the mane of dark hair, but he hesitates.

She seemed in a good enough mood after the game, graced him with a few smiles when he managed a quick escape, before Josh or Violet could follow. But the way she stands now in front of the salad bar, alone, removed? Doesn't scream, _come and find me_.

Okay. Maybe she just needs a little space.

He can give her that.

He wants to get himself some of that hand-carved roast, anyway. Ooh, or pasta - yesterday this woman sat down next to them with a bowl of pasta that looked and _smelled _heavenly, and maybe, if he's lucky, he can get the same today?

He's headed for the pasta bar when the ship pitches, the sensation not unlike one of those Disney world attractions - what is it, Big Thunder Mountain? - when the train dips suddenly (and so does your stomach).

Castle tries to steady his feet, hangs on to the glass that sways on his tray, the men and women all around him reacting with exclamations and various levels of anxiety. One of the guys from their group, James, is standing close to him; his face is a lovely shade of green.

"Might be a good idea to skip lunch," he jokes feebly, his hand clutching the metal rail next to his half-filled tray.

Castle shrugs, and the second the floor rights under his feet, resumes his way to the pasta bar. He must have sea-legs or something; he finds the roll amusing rather than sickening.

And not very threatening either, despite the woman he hears whispering, "They could at least *tell* us that the sea is getting stormy."

As if he's heard her and granted her wish, the captain makes an announcement about the rough weather and how they won't be allowed to use the pool on the top deck; Castle only half-listens to it or the protests it gives rise to.

Damn. There are too many pasta options: he can't remember which one was in that woman's plate yesterday. They were fusilli - he's pretty sure of that - but was the sauce the Tasty Tomato thing, with its colorful hints of peppers, or was it the Creamy Vegetable...? Huh. Decisions.

He rocks through another roll of the deck, maintaining his balance without much effort, deep in consideration.

And then he grins.

He will just have to try both.

* * *

><p>Kate is sitting on the far end of the room, away from the rest of the group, the only one at her small table. She has her back to him, so he can't see her face; he wavers for a split second, then decides that surely it's Josh and his blonde doll of a wife that she's hiding from.<p>

Not him.

A tremor of the ship makes him slam his tray against the table with more force than he intended; Kate jerks, gives him a startled look.

"Sorry," he winces, vaguely surprised himself at her wide-eyed shock. It's not so common to catch Kate Beckett unaware.

"It's fine," she dismisses with a slight shake of her head, as if berating herself.

He notices the blanched knuckles, the hand clenched on the fork she's holding. What the hell is going on?

But she relaxes after a few seconds, carefully avoiding his eyes, and the pasta is calling to him - the rich fragrance enticingly surrounding his body - so he chooses to dig in, to leave Beckett alone for now. Maybe she's just hungry. As hungry as he is.

Hmm, no. Not possible.

He swallows the first mouthful with overt delight, his eyes closed, fairly confident that she's arching her eyebrows at him - if not rolling her eyes.

He doesn't mind. In fact, he might even be asking for it.

Only after his stomach's demanding calls have been somewhat answered does he pause, glance at Kate's plate. Huh. Well, there goes the hungry explanation.

Her salad looks every bit as untouched as it did when he sat down; she's fiddling with her fork, as close to playing with her food as he's ever seen her. (She once lectured him about playing with his food; he remembers it vividly, the slim index finger poking at his chest, the spark in her green eyes, the curl of a repressed smile at her mouth).

"Something wrong?" he asks a little brusquely, hoping to surprise her into answering.

"Hmm?"

She lifts her eyes to him, but they're distant, guarded again; after her openness during their therapy session, after the way she smiled and laughed at him over _Robert_, it feels more painful than it should.

"Oh. No, I'm. I'm fine. Just - not that hungry. I wish..." she sighs. "I wish we knew more. That's all."

He knows what she's talking about - the case, or lack thereof - and he tries to look around as nonchalantly as he can, make sure no one's close enough to hear their conversation.

They're in the clear.

"Well, we have what Robert said, about the drugs."

She hums, neither approving nor disapproving, and closes her eyes as he curls his hand over the side of his plate, keeping it from sliding down his tray. The slow, rolling motion isn't enough to keep him from eating the last of the pasta, but all the fun has worn off by now. Less amusement park ride and more annoying.

Glancing up at his partner, he finds her with her eyes still closed.

"Kate?"

The green orbs open and focus on him, and when he sees her swallow his insides knot in worry. Obviously, something's wrong.

"I'm fine," she says again, but it's getting less and less convincing. "Just a little bit tired. In fact, I think I'll go back to the room, lie down for a bit."

Even as she says it, she's already standing up; he has no other option than to nod dumbly, his mind immediately providing him with a dozen possible explanations that range from rather bad to terrible (she has food poisoning; the murderer is trying to drug her and cover his tracks; Beckett is about to die from a sudden and unpredictable stroke).

He impatiently shuts up his stupid writer half, tries to think like a detective instead while he watches her walk out of the room.

She's pale. He thought it was the crappy lighting, but it's not; he can see her face clearly when she passes the warm neon lights of the buffet.

The ship pitches one more time. Kate catches herself on the wall, stumbling in shoes that are not even heels; at Castle's right, a woman lets out a whiny complaint, a hand pressed to her mouth.

And he finally gets it.

Seasick.

Pale, didn't eat anything, her balance obviously off. Ug. Can it be more obvious?

He's stupid.

But of course, Kate Beckett doesn't ask for help, no. Kate Beckett doesn't moan in discomfort, doesn't complain; she suffers through it in silence, her head held high.

Silly woman.

He gives his dessert a regretful parting look, then gets up - no hesitation this time.

He's not letting her get her way.

* * *

><p>Kate has to stop outside their stateroom, a hand to her mouth, willing her traitorous body to settle down. The pitch of the ship below her is easy, gentle almost; this shouldn't be a thing. She never gets seasick on ferry rides, although she does remember getting carsick as a child sitting in the backseat.<p>

This is just so not fair.

She swallows hard, presses a palm to the wall beside the door for balance, suffers through the ship's roll with her feet wide. When it seems to settle, at least a little bit, she leans her forehead against her hand and fumbles for the key in her back pocket.

If she can just get inside.

"Let me," a voice says, making her startle.

"Castle," she murmurs, lifting her head.

But he won't look at her. Instead he slides his own key card into the lock, opens the door, gesturing for her to go ahead of him. Kate takes a slow, shallow breath and clutches the doorframe, then shifts to move inside.

At that moment, the floor bucks under her feet, throwing her against Castle's chest, fingers scraping free of the doorframe to clutch at him.

Her stomach doesn't seem to have made the journey.

Kate pushes off of him and runs for the bathroom, two steps, maybe three, hand over her mouth, certain she won't make it, certain it's going to-

She drops to her knees at the toilet, slamming the lid back, and vomits into the bowl. The odor of porcelain and cleaning fluids brings it up again, and again, until there's only the violent clenching of her stomach and the burn of acid in her throat, but nothing more.

She sinks down against the wall, an arm over the toilet seat, face against her bicep, trying to swallow down the burning saliva.

"Kate?"

She sighs. "Just. . .give me a minute."

When he goes silent, she closes her eyes in relief, breathes out slowly. The churn of her stomach settles now that there's nothing in it, now that she can't feel the deck moving under her feet.

Kate leans back, shuts the lid, flushes the toilet, leaning her head against the wall. She jumps when something cold hits her cheek, opens her eyes as she lifts her hand to it. A washcloth. Her fingers brush his.

He holds out his other hand. Water.

She wraps her fingers around the plastic bottle, unscrews the top, takes a small sip to swish around in her mouth. Completely uncaring (he's seen it all now), she lifts the toilet lid to spit out the mouthful, lets the lid clatter back down.

Castle sits down beside her, wordlessly, drops his hand on one of her raised knees. Jiggles it. Makes her laugh softly. She buries her head in the wet washcloth, sighing.

"Seasick." he says.

Not a question, but she nods.

"Want to get in bed?" he murmurs, his eyes on her. She can feel them.

She nods again, but can't quite make herself move. She lifts her face from the washcloth, drops it in the floor. She puts the top back on the water bottle, sets it down. She takes another slow breath, trying to muster the strength of will to get up, curl in bed.

She could just lay here in the floor. The tile is nice and cool.

Kate leans forward, palms out, sinks down to the bathroom floor with a sigh.

"Kate," he sighs.

She feels his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off, cheek to the floor, eyes closed.

Before she knows it, his arms are under her and gathering her up. She jerks, feels her stomach slosh, but Castle seems to understand, because he goes slowly, her face against his shoulder, standing in stages, one leg under him, then the other.

"Castle." But she's not even sure she knows what she should say. Or how to say it. She sees the tense line of his jaw as he concentrates.

It's only a few steps to the bed; he's smart and doesn't try to bend over, simply sits down with her in his lap, eases back until they are both in the center. He lets her go, drawing away, tugging the sheets and bedcovers down for her.

Kate turns on the bed to face him, watches the fist he places on the mattress to keep his balance as he. . .tucks her in.

"Thanks," she says softly.

"The canteen on the tenth deck has Dramamine, Kate. Let me go get you some."

"Makes me sleepy."

"Might be good to sleep through this, yeah?"

She chews on her lower lip then nods. "Yeah."

"I'll be right back," he says, and leans in, the fist in the bed making her sink towards him just a little. His lips glance her cheek; she stills in surprise.

When she opens her eyes, he's disappearing out the door.

* * *

><p>Castle is paying for the last box of Dramamine at the canteen when he feels a warm body at his back and a scraping voice in his ear.<p>

"Hey there, handsome."

He startles, making the change in his hand bounce and drop back to the counter. Even as he's slapping it down, trying to gather it up to give the guy at the register, he turns and sees Violet, sans blackberry, her finger sliding up his arm.

Castle shrinks back, but the counter is at his hip, and he has nowhere to go. "Uh."

"Oh, poor baby. Seasick?" Violet reaches past him and takes the Dramamine off the counter. Castle turns and hands the money to the kid, exact change, he hopes, and reaches out to grab the Dramamine back from the woman.

She lets him take it but she doesn't let go, uses the grab as an excuse to press her breasts against his chest.

"It's not for me," he says, gritting his teeth. Honestly, if he hadn't listened to Kate throw up five or more times in the last fifteen minutes, Violet's body flush to his might've done something to him, completely involuntarily. But not now. "It's for my wife."

Doesn't deter Violet, not one bit. She simpers at his arm. "You poor thing. I hate it when Josh is sick. So whiny. Mopey. Asking for things."

He blinks, detaches his arm from her claws. "I have to go. Kate needs this."

Castle glances away and sees one of the employees covertly watching them. He wonders, for a moment, if he should be letting Violet seduce him, since this is a surefire way to paint himself a target to their killer.

If there is a killer. If it's not just a couple of guys who-

No. Not worth it. Their fake fights yesterday took too much out of him, out of her as well, and he's not sure there really is a killer. So what would be the point of this? It would only come between them somehow.

Castle sidesteps Violet again and tries to shake her off as he heads for the door. The sudden pitch of the ship actually helps him out, knocking her back. Castle is a gentleman, but not enough of one to reach back and help her; he takes the escape offered to him.

When he makes it back to their stateroom, he's had to slog through three more wild rolls of the ship, and he's pretty sure Kate's going to be back in the bathroom after those. He key cards the door open and shuts it behind him. Sure enough, the bed is empty.

Castle goes straight to the bathroom, opens the door.

Kate is on the floor, curled at the base of the toilet. It seriously can't be that clean down there, but her head is buried in one arm, her face turned away from him.

"Kate," he murmurs and gets to his knees behind her. He lifts a hand and brushes the hair back from her face.

Her eyes flicker open. She turns onto her back, blinking up at him, her shoulder against his leg. Castle holds up the Dramamine. "Think you can take this?"

She takes a long breath, brings her hand to her forehead, hiding her eyes. "Try."

"It's chewable, Kate." He rips open the package and pops out the right dose, hands it over to her.

She slips it past her lips; he threads his fingers at the back of her neck and lifts her slowly off the floor, props her up against his chest. He feels her cheek press against him, then her jaw working as she chews the Dramamine.

"Let's get you back to bed," he murmurs, stroking his fingers through her hair, feeling the sweat on her scalp.

She makes a noise, swallows. "N-not yet."

"Okay. All right." Castle shifts on the floor for a better position. "We'll stay right here."

"You don't have to," she says quietly, her palm coming up against his chest to push off of him. "Don't have to-"

"I do. Better than sitting out there, wondering if you're okay." He curls his hand around hers, kisses her palm.

She lets out a long sigh, closes her eyes. "Be okay," she murmurs.

"I know."

Castle waits a moment, and then presses his mouth to her forehead, cradling her skull with his hand.


	5. Chapter 5

**LOVE BOAT**

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>The next time Kate opens her eyes, she's on the bed again.<p>

_In_ the bed. Curled up on her side, snuggled under the sheets and covers.

Castle.

A smile tugs at her lips as she blinks off the last remnants of sleep. Awareness spreads through her, tentacles unfurling, carefully prodding at her insides. The nausea seems to have retreated; the only thing left is the dull throb of hunger.

Makes sense. She did empty the contents of her stomach. Thoroughly. And more than once.

Her nose crinkles at the thought.

She's on Castle's side of the bed - well, the side he occupied last night - facing the window, the sea, the white foam capping deep grey waves against a matching sky. What time-?

She struggles to free her arm from the tangle of sheets, manages to get out the wrist with her father's watch.

Quarter to four. Oh.

They probably missed some stupid group activity or something. Eh. She's not gonna pretend she's sorry about it.

Even lying down on the bed, she can tell the sea has stopped its maddening dance - or at least, brought it down to a gentle sway that the size of the ship makes insignificant. Kate sighs in relief, closes her eyes as she rolls onto her back.

Only then does she notice the slow, even breathing at her side, the warm weight that makes the mattress dip a little. She smiles and turns gingerly, not wanting to wake him, eyelids sliding open again.

Castle is on top of the covers; she can't decide whether it's a sweet but rather silly measure to protect her virtue, or if he simply didn't plan on taking a nap.

He sleeps on his side, angled towards her, with half his face mashed into the pillow: slack jaw, open mouth. His right hand touches her pillow, fingers loosely curled around the white fabric, a breath away from her cheek now; it looks like he fell asleep playing with her hair. Which is-

Cute. Sort of.

But if she lets him sleep, he's going to be hyper tonight.

Even with that knowledge, she waits a little, her eyes lingering over the familiar features; the slope of the nose, the strong line of the eyebrow, with that tiny scar above it. Is it actually a scar? She's never known for sure.

Against her best instincts, she lifts a finger, presses the tip to the little crease in his forehead. Castle doesn't move, not even the slightest reaction; instead of taking her hand back (_like she should_) she moves it across his temple, the end of his cheekbone, and traces the curve of his jaw.

When she gets to the light dimple in his chin, he groans deep in his throat and starts stirring. She retreats, but doesn't slide her arm back under the sheets either, just rests it between them.

And she watches him swim back to consciousness.

It seems to be a rather painstaking process, if his grimaces and moans are any indication. He attempts to stretch, bumps into her, and rolls onto his back instead as his eyes open.

"Hmm." He yawns, and then his head turns to her, a sleepy smile stretching his lips.

"Kate. Hi." He hums, rubs his eyes. "Didn't mean to fall asleep."

His hair is a mess, the too-long strands all over his forehead and temples; Kate reaches out without thinking, pushes them back.

Castle stills, gives her a look that's half-surprise, half-delight. She drops her hand, tries very hard not to blush.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, gentleman enough not to push the issue.

"Much better," she says with a smile as she sits up, slides a leg out of bed. "But starving."

"You think you can eat?" he inquires, lifting an eyebrow as he mimics her movements.

She pauses to consider, then shrugs. "Best way to find out is to try."

"Here." He turns to the bedside table, grabs something that he waves proudly in front of her. "I have cookies. If you want to start with that."

She stares for a second at his hand holding up the cookies, then looks up at his hopeful eyes and takes the box, biting her lower lip through a smile.

"When did you get these, Castle?"

"After you fell asleep. I went back to the shop on deck 6 and bought them. Thought you might be hungry later."

His unhesitant admission makes her heart stumble, touched, humbled too. He always thinks of her, always takes care of her, and - he feels no shame whatsoever in acknowledging it. This man.

He doesn't notice her sudden stillness, and goes on with a mock shiver, "At least this time I managed to stay away from Violet."

"Violet?"

The name pierces the warm bubble in her chest, calls for her attention.

"Oh. Yeah. She, um, she came on to me when I went to buy you the Dramamine. Didn't even back off when I said it was for you," he adds, looking vaguely disgusted.

Kate's heart pounds with an unidentified feeling. A bad feeling. Not jealousy, no, because she trusts Castle and she's seen what Violet is like, but-

It's foreboding, and fear; it's the need to protect.

Protect him.

What has she done?

"Castle. Did anyone see you?"

His eyes meet hers in surprise - certainly due to the sharpness of her tone - and he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, one of the employees, for sure. Maybe a few other people."

"They saw you flirt with her?"

She needs to make sure.

"Well. More like, they saw her flirt with me. I wasn't very...encouraging."

He flashes her an awkward, somewhat apologizing look, but she doesn't answer; she's pressing her lips together, trying to think. Violet coming on to Castle. What if it means-

"Kate?" Castle asks, sounding unsure. "What's wrong? That's our goal here, right? Make them all think that we're fighting and unfaithful?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just-" she drops the cookies to the bed, pushes her hair back with both hands. "Maybe it worked too well, Castle. I mean. If you're a target, and..."

She reviews the possible options, her chest uncomfortably tight. She doesn't like this, doesn't like it at all. If there's really a murderer, if there's actually someone dumping guys over the railing-

"I don't want you to go anywhere on your own," she concludes, lifting her eyes to him. "You understand me, Castle? It's too dangerous, if I can't have your back."

"Why, Detective Beckett," he says with a little smirk. "Worried about me?"

"Castle."

It's not a game.

The smile falls off his face, replaced by a serious look. "I won't go anywhere without you, Kate. Promise."

It makes her feel a little better. Not much, though.

Her brain paints a too-accurate picture of Castle's unconscious body being dropped into the ocean.

"And maybe." She chews on her lip, a hand pressed to her forehead, weighing the risks and possible rewards, trying to establish the best course of action. They know so little, so little. "Maybe we should try and pretend to patch up our marriage, too. I mean, Josh, and Violet, and - obviously, this has gone far enough."

"What are you saying, Kate? You want to drop the fights?"

He sounds rather cheerful at the prospect, and she's not going to blame him. Instead she nods, her decision made.

"Yes. Drop the fights. And I think - I think it can't hurt, if we make sure people see us making up."

She catches the delighted smile that erupts on Castle's face, and she rolls her eyes, secretly grateful for the humor that loosens the knots in her stomach. "I said _up_, Castle. Not _out_."

"The two are not incompatible," he points out, his grin widening.

And despite her best efforts, the laughter makes it out.

* * *

><p>"Early dinner?" she asks him and he grins again, watching her as she pulls her wet hair back.<p>

"Like an old married couple, huh?" He stands up from the bed to meet her, and the overwhelming fragrance follows her out of the bathroom, engulfs him.

Castle sways on his feet, inhaling cherry and soap and lavender and mint and herbal and - Kate.

Oh wow.

"Castle?"

He nods because surely the lilt of her voice on his name requires an affirmative, a _hell yes_ more likely, but he just keeps nodding until he sees that raised eyebrow and smirk to her lips that tells him he's nodding too much.

He stops.

And then his mouth opens, probably trying to go for damage control, reestablish his cool factor, but really, he should know better than to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind after he catches a lungful of her scent.

"You smell good."

He stands there, dumbfounded at his own idiocy, but Kate, who is already halfway towards the door, turns to look at him over her shoulder and gives him a smile he's never seen before. Never. Holy. . .that's a new one. She reaches back for him, her hand catching his, and tugs him after her.

Oh my God. Oh God.

They're supposed to be making up, aren't they? And she's started already.

* * *

><p>Making up. Out. All of it. Holy shit, Kate Beckett is seductive and evil. Pure evil. She's enjoying this, isn't she?<p>

She eats with only one hand, but she must not need both because she's also making these really sexy noises every time she swallows another bite. Like her mashed potatoes, which have to be instant, seriously, they're just instant mashed potatoes, but it's like these are the best potatoes she's ever eaten and she can't get enough.

And every time she hums like that, low in her throat, her lashes flutter a little bit and the hand that should have been - oh, on the table or maybe even around her drink, that hand? - that hand slides up his thigh.

Every time.

Richard Castle is not eating.

He's barely breathing.

Actually, this is kind of perfect because he doesn't have to sit here and take it, grit his teeth and hopes she moves on. It's kind of perfect because she seems to be giving him permission to be equally hands-on in their approach to Operation Don't Make Castle a Target.

So he does. Is. He is. Hands-on.

He's already propped his arm up on the back of her chair, has his fingers touching the side of her neck down to her shoulder, brushing circles, palm to her skin. And every time she squeezes his thigh, he swipes his thumb over her spine, up her neck, into the soft hair gathered there. The knot of her hair rests against the back of his hand, slides across his skin whenever she moves her head.

It's erotic as hell, and he's pretty sure it's not just all on his side here. Oh he's a hundred percent sure.

Because sometimes it's not the mashed potatoes that cause her fingers to grip his knee like she has to hold on. Sometimes it's just the light caress of his fingers as he lazily strokes her neck.

She's gotten her color back. All the way. So much so that he sees the flush at her chest hasn't dissipated, that it climbs to her cheeks and forehead, makes her eyes bright.

"Dinner good?" he finally says, because he hasn't touched his. Can't possibly, with the way he can touch and watch and adore her. Who needs food?

"Good," she says, her voice raw. She looks over at him, and he sees her struggle to contain herself, loves it, loves that she can't even hide it from him. "But not enough people in here, I think."

Oh, he's not stopping now. Hell no.

"They've reopened the pool on the top deck. Everyone's up there, I bet," he says, because he really, really wants to touch her wet skin in one of those sexy, model swimsuits that he knows she has. Oh yeah. One of those.

She watches him a long time, as if debating the wisdom of that move (_it's not wise, Kate, it's really not, not if you want me to be able to stop_), and then she nods once.

"Okay. Let's go to the pool. Let me finish this."

"No problem," he says, but it is. It is a problem. The problem is-

She's already got him worked up. And now she wants to prolong that tease in front of a hundred more people topside, in a pool, and have it *not* be real?

Oh no. Oh hell no, Kate Beckett. This is real.

* * *

><p>A thrill runs through her as she closes the door to the en-suite bathroom, hangs the swimsuit to the door and starts shedding her clothes.<p>

But she doesn't stop, doesn't dwell on it, doesn't give herself time to think. To turn tail and run.

The truth is, she knows exactly what she's doing. Knows what game she's playing.

And she doesn't _want_ to stop.

"Need any help?" Castle asks from the bedroom. She can just picture his face from the tone of his voice; the smirking mouth, the arch of the eyebrow.

He already offered to help choose her swimsuit - an offer that she declined - and then stared at her with such persistence as she sunk to her knees in front of her bag, and went through her things, that she had to hide the piece of fabric away from his prying eyes.

She wouldn't let him see. She wants to surprise him; she wants to see the look on his face when he sees her wearing it.

And if that's childish, well - she doesn't care.

"I'll be fine on my own, Castle," she answers, smiling, through the closed door. For a fleeting second, she imagines his large, skillful hands roaming over her skin, tying the strings at her back, and she shivers. Hard. Oh, this is a dangerous game.

"But if you need help getting in your trunks..." she adds, trying to get back to the light teasing, to uncurl the long fingers of arousal that are twisted around her insides.

"You know, I just might," he replies after a long silence, and though he sounds like he's grinning, she thinks there is some breathlessness to it, too.

Kate makes sure the tie at her neck is secure, then inspects herself in the mirror.

Her skin's a little pale, of course, but at least it contrasts prettily with the black fabric. And the shape is rather flattering, she thinks. She had to go shopping for this, find swimsuits that would hide the scars and yet look natural enough.

It's not that she cares; but Kate Rodgers, who is nothing but a bank employee - or, if you listen to Castle, a Russian Lit professor - has no reason whatsoever to have been shot.

Better to do away with the questions before they can be asked.

This particular suit is one-piece, but it's impossible to tell from the back; and the front plunges almost to her navel, with a string holding the top together at the breasts. It's adjustable enough to hide the puckered scar, and-

It still shows a lot of skin. A_ lot_ of skin.

Enough skin to make Castle gawk, drop his jaw. Make him want her.

Which is what _she_ wants. Right?

His voice cuts short her sudden flare of hesitation. "You still alive in there?"

Looks like someone's getting impatient. Kate gives her reflection a confident, knowing little smile, then gathers her clothes and turns to the door.

"Coming, Castle."

* * *

><p>He does gawk.<p>

But if she's honest, so does she.

For some reason, when he mentioned the pool, his fingers curled around her neck and his eyes dark with sensual suggestion, she didn't think about him wearing a swimsuit too.

She didn't think of his bare chest, of the waistband of his trunks hugging his hipbones-

She swiftly averts her eyes, but too late - she's seen it all, the broad shoulders and the large chest, the strong arms, muscular legs, the hips, surprisingly narrow for a man of his build.

She wills her heart to calm as she drops her clothes on the bed, but the stupid thing won't listen to her. It keeps hammering against her ribs, the beat echoing in her temples, so loud that she almost fears Castle will hear it.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him pull on a t-shirt; regret flares in her belly and she berates herself, shoves it down.

And it's not like he's a model or anything, but...

He *is* the man who loves her.

The man she loves?

"Do you have a beach towel?" he asks gently, voice subdued, as if he's having as much trouble as she is dealing with this whole thing.

Kate realizes she's been staring at her bag, shakes herself. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

She stoops to gather the towel, the beach wrap that she ties quickly around her waist, and turns back to Castle; his mouth is open, blue eyes stunned.

Oh. Right. The back of her suit.

She must have given him quite a view when she leaned down.

The smirk is on her lips before she's even aware, delight flaring in her chest, her confidence boosted. She can do this.

She makes sure she has everything she needs, then moves to open the door, since Castle is obviously rooted to the spot.

He doesn't even seem to notice she's not in front of him anymore. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing, tilts her head, amused but also strangely moved by his reaction.

"Come on, Castle," she says softly. "Let's go to the pool."

His eyes turn to her; he comes back to himself at once, a look of embarrassment replacing the shock from before.

"Right. Pool."

He moves quickly, passing her to get out of the room, and before she even knows what she's doing, she's stopping him with a hand on his forearm, on tiptoes to brush a kiss to his cheek.

His skin is warm, and soft, and she lingers for a second. He's very still against her, but she feels the blood pulsing under the hand that she's rested on his shoulder, and even through the shirt, feels the play of muscle too.

"Pool," he murmurs, his voice rough, deep, and it sounds like a plea, and a warning. A warning to them both.

"Yes," she answers, heeding him.

She lets him go, pulls the door closed behind them: her fingers on the handle are shaking.

* * *

><p>That is the deepest v known to man.<p>

It's not a one-piece swimsuit; she lied. It's two scraps of material stretching up her torso like racing stripes, just wide enough to cover each breast and knot in the back. It's black bikini bottoms hugging her ass and a thin string tied at her shoulder blades to keep it in place. Completely bare and beautiful skin between each stop, skin he longs to put his mouth against.

He follows behind her, still feeling the breath against his cheek from her kiss, the rest of his body feeling the black plunging spandex/nylon/polyester/whatever the hell, he doesn't care, it's fantastic.

She has three bangled bracelets on her wrist that shiver as she walks; she doesn't need the metal, doesn't need anything other than the long length of her legs flirting with him through the wrap skirt, sheathed and sheer.

He hurries to catch her at the stairs, follows her up the long winding staircase, hypnotized by the sway of her hips and the flutter of that wrap, the length of skin at her back. At the top of the stairs, he finally finds the courage, the gall, to put his fingers to the middle of her bare back.

When her skin ripples at his touch, a flare of confidence sends his hands stroking down her spine, skimming over the black tie to her lower back, just over the waistband of her wrap.

She half-turns, her eyes dark, her hair already falling out of the loose knot at her neck and spilling around her face.

He can't help himself; he lifts his hand from her back and pushes his fingers into the tangle of her hair, cupping the back of her head.

Her eyes flare wide, expectation swimming to the surface. He can see her bated breath, the lick of her tongue at her bottom lip, quick but relentless. Her eyes drift down to his mouth.

They are only a few feet away from the raised deck that leads to the pool; people pass them going to and from the water, leaving wet footprints, laughing, like the storm never happened.

She raises an eyebrow at him, as if to ask him what he's waiting for.

Make up. Make out.

Castle leans in, a hand at her hip to pull her flush; she comes, meets his lips with hers softly, too gentle for wearing a swimsuit like this. He touches his tongue to the seam of her mouth and her body lifts into his as her lips part.

He strokes the roof of her mouth, feels her teeth at his lower lip, her fingers curled under his tshirt at the bare skin of his sides. Her fingers feather out, up, and then he has to break away, a fist in her hair to pull her back.

Her open mouth releases a startled breath, her eyes on his. He tries to let go of her hair and it tumbles down around her face, beautiful and rich.

"Amazing," she murmurs.

* * *

><p>Kate finds that her fingers laced in his don't fit well; his hands are too broad, his fingers too thick. It makes her heart beat fast, so that the two fingers she does keep curled through his are pounding in time with her pulse. He must feel it.<p>

With just those first two fingers, she pulls him along behind her, heading for the lounge chairs arrayed in the sun. The rest of her fingers are curled up between their palms, his thumb at her wrist, stroking.

When she reaches a double chaise lounge, wide enough for both of them, she pauses, biting her bottom lip. She's not sure it's such a good idea. Maybe-

Castle bumps into her back, then uses their joined hands to nudge her. "Here's good."

She turns, their fingers twisting, but he doesn't let go of her. Kate lifts an eyebrow, but he only smirks back at her; he's going to take this as far as he possibly can, isn't he?

"You first, Rick," she murmurs, smirking back at him.

He drops down to the chaise lounge and grins, patting the spot next to him as he settles in. She chews on the inside of her lip for a beat, then drops her hands onto his shoulders, a finger lifted to stroke the side of his jaw. She puts a knee to the side of his hip, trails her hands down his chest to hook the bottom of his tshirt.

"Aren't you gonna take this off?" she says slyly, letting her nails brush his skin as she tugs upward.

"You could do it," he says back, his words husky and dark. The sun is at her back, and intense, but she's pretty certain that's not the reason her whole body is catching fire.

Kate draws his shirt up even as he lifts his arms to help, tugs it over his head. She leans forward, balancing one hand on his shoulder so she can hang his shirt on the back of the chaise, feels his breath at her sternum.

She lingers, waiting for him, silently urging him on, and then his mouth touches her skin, a wet, soft kiss that makes her hand tighten at his shoulder, holding on.

His palms come to her waist, fingers splayed at the skin of her sides, thumbs in the spandex of her suit, keeping her upright. She lets go of his shirt to cradle the back of his head, her eyes slipping shut.

Her heart flutters as his lips brush up her skin.

She wants to call his name, soft and pleading, but the sun is too bright, there are too many people, it would be the wrong name.

"Kate," he murmurs and puts her away, her fingers falling from his hair to his neck, trailing down to his chest. She sits back on one foot, stares at him.

She didn't mean to-

She meant to-

Oh wow.

She presses a hand to her chest, realizes his lips were tracing the faint pucker of her scar.

Castle reaches out, his fingers wrapping around hers, and tugs on her swimsuit top to adjust it, covering the scar once again.


	6. Chapter 6

**LOVE BOAT**

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>The pool might as well be empty, as far as he's concerned. She's the only one he sees.<p>

He's unable tell if Josh and Violet are here, or any of the people from their group this morning; hell, the murderer could be throwing a drunken guy overboard, for all he cares.

Castle usually takes pride in his attention to detail, his ability to notice small things, but not today.

No.

Today, he sits on the lounge chair and it's all he can do to watch Kate Beckett dive off the edge of the pool, in a flash of flawless skin and taut muscles (he cannot imagine another woman who would dare do it in *that* swimsuit, but she does, and it's beautiful and perfect and oh, he wants to see that amazing body naked, wants to feel it arch under his on the sheets while she whispers his name).

She surfaces, sleek dark hair clinging to the delicate curve of her neck, eyes a bright shade of green, almost golden in the evening light; a brief look around, and she starts swimming towards him.

Her strokes are neat and elegant, of course, and she's in front of him in a matter of seconds, smiling and wet, breathtaking. She rests her forearms on the ledge, gives him a look that he doesn't remember ever seeing on her face. Soft. Inviting.

Irresistible.

"You coming?"

He just can't say no to that.

The water is cool. Not overly so, but enough that the difference with the outside temperature makes him shiver; Kate smirks at him, her body dangerously close, eyeing him like he's fresh coffee.

"You cold, Rick?"

Oh man. The way she says his name. Too much throat in it, and a darkness that opens inside him too, looking to swallow him whole.

Her hand splays on his ribs before he can scrape an answer together, and he shudders again, but this time it's not the water. Her fingers slide slowly across the skin, end up curled at his side; each fingertip presses burning heat into him.

"I'll warm you up," she breathes, and she pulls him away from the ladder and into the pool, a siren, all dark lashes and pale, tantalizing skin.

And for the first time in two days, he finds himself wishing it weren't real. Wishing the spark of tenderness in her eyes was fake, wishing her mouth wouldn't curve with joy when he winds an arm around her waist and draws her close.

It would be easier then.

Easier to stay in control, focused; easier to keep his heartbeat a tame, gentle waltz in his chest instead of this wild, frenetic tap dance.

But it *is* real, all too real, and he cannot resist the call of her lips; he has to claim her, slant his mouth over hers and drink in the hot, exquisite taste of her. She gives a imperceptible little moan as she opens for him; he feels the vibration deep in his chest, and his fingers tug at her in response, imperious.

She comes; her hands slide up his chest, curl at the back of his neck, into his hair. Her body presses against his and he can sense every curve, every inch of smooth skin that the swimsuit can't, won't cover.

A lot of skin. Hot skin. Against him.

She kicks out, making them buoyant again, stirring the water, but his body is thick with desire; he's going to sink them like a stone.

"Can you touch?" he murmurs, feels the way his lips glance along the wet line of her neck as he searches for more skin, tasting. She shivers, a leg hooking around his, arches her back.

"Oh, I can touch all right," she says back, her mouth at his ear, her teeth scraping.

"Oh, shit." He gasps into her neck, closing his eyes, feeling the water lapping at his cheek, has to lift his head to keep from drowning. "Not. . .not what I meant, but don't let that stop you."

She laughs, rich and dark and curling around him. "Do I need to wash your mouth out with soap, Rick?"

"You can do whatever you want with my mouth," he shudders, and as if to prove his point, licks the column of her throat to nip at the underside of her jaw.

Her leg flexes around him, an old rhythm that keeps him off-balance, tilting into her, all smooth hands thanks to the sleek glide of the swimsuit against her body. He sucks water from the hollow of her throat, feels a wave rock over his shoulders as she moves, drawing him closer.

After a moment, he realizes his toes are scraping the bottom, that she's moved them to that nebulous border where the deep end begins to drift up into the shallow, but they're still a few meters from the rope strung across the pool.

"Can you reach?" she asks.

"Can now. All the places I want," he grins, knows there's something predatory in his eyes because he can see it reflected in hers as well. "But I rather like being in the deep end with you. Only you."

Her lashes lift and he realizes he said - too much. Quite a lot.

He slides his palm down her side, making waves, and then curls his fingers around her thigh, keeping her leg hiked up against him, trying to make her forget what he said. How he said it. What it means.

"Cas-" She shakes her head, closes her eyes, then drifts in closer, tugging herself in with her hands at his shoulder blades. She lowers her voice and speaks in his ear. "Castle."

His arms clench around her, his fingers tightening on her thigh, feeling the way her body floats against his, brushing, teasing.

"Castle. You're the only one I want in the deep end with me."

* * *

><p>"I gotta cool down," he mutters, right at her ear, and Kate smiles behind her sunglasses.<p>

She keeps her eyes closed, but she can feel him sit up against the lounge chair, swing his legs over the side. He pauses, she's not sure why, but then he stands, and she feels him hovering over her.

She opens her eyes, sees the smirk flirting with his lips, and the he crooks his finger at her scar, slides his nail down to hook in the string that holds the two pieces of her swimsuit to her torso.

He tugs, the material gapes, her stomach fluttering, and then he snaps it back with an entirely too devastating curl of his lips.

And then he dives into the pool.

Kate presses her hand over the scar, ostensibly to rearrange the fabric back into place, but her fingers tremble on her skin while all kinds of dirty things whirl in her mind.

She watches Castle hungrily as he strokes from one end of the pool to the other, the shine of his wet hair, the too-blue of his eyes against the water, the smooth line of his back. His arms look long as he cleaves through the deep end, thick, his biceps and trapezius so well-shaped that she's astonished she's never noticed before.

Well, he's usually wearing dress shirts, which define the length of his torso but never like this.

She realizes she's leaning forward, forces herself to sit back, lower her hand to her waist. The sun is warm, revitalizing now that she doesn't feel every dip and sway of the sea, and she tries to recapture the sense of luxuriating in it.

Only she wants to luxuriate in his warmth instead.

Suddenly, she's certain they can't go back to that tiny room today, not alone, together, not - not if they want to survive this.

They need to stay out of that room.

* * *

><p>He doesn't get out of the pool until he's thoroughly exhausted, until the cool water has licked off the last, lingering embers of Kate Beckett's tongue, Kate Beckett's fingers, Kate Beckett's - ah, so lovely - legs.<p>

The sun is starting to set when he climbs the metallic ladder, and the muscles of his thighs complain softly against a too-brusque move. Good. Good.

The more tired his body, the easier it'll be to get to sleep tonight. Get to sleep with Kate Beckett in his bed, Kate Beckett's long, divine body curled up next to-

Ah, shit.

He's considering going back into the pool when a little breeze ripples across his skin, makes him shiver. With the sun setting, he realizes, the temperature is dropping fast; it might have been warm earlier, but now the air is chilly.

In fact, most people have deserted the upper deck. There is only one inexhaustible swimmer slicing through the pool, and a couple or two are still lounging in the chairs, but that's all. Kate is the only one left in their section; when he gets closer, he sees that she has wrapped her towel around her hips, probably for warmth. And-

She's also wearing his t-shirt.

He slowly releases the breath trapped in his chest. She looks good in his clothes. Of course she does.

She could have told him that she was cold...

"Hey," she says, probably sensing his presence, lifting her eyes from the paperback she's resting to her knees. She gives him a soft smile, a laughing look as she nods to the pool. "You sure you've had enough?"

He lifts his eyebrows at her. Surely he can't have been swimming that long?

"Almost an hour," she answers his unspoken question, and by now he's so used to Kate Beckett reading his mind that he doesn't even flinch.

An hour. Wow.

"Guess I'm in a better shape than I thought," he replies lightly, grabbing his towel and rubbing his hair dry with it before he moves to his shoulders, his back, his chest.

Kate's eyes follow his every gesture, her mouth parted as if she's on the verge of saying something; then she meets his gaze and sinks her teeth into her lower lip, looking away. His brow furrows; he opens his mouth to ask, curious-

And shuts it again, realizing.

Why, Kate Beckett, he thinks with a smirk. At least he's not the only one whose mind is still in the gutter. And seems to taken established permanent residence there.

"You ready to go?" she says, her voice sharper than needs be, as she gets up and gathers the few things she brought up here. Castle's smile broadens. He would really like to be in Kate's mind right now.

"You gonna give me my shirt back?" he asks with a flick of his eyebrow. Not that he wants it back, no - he just wants to see her reaction.

He's not disappointed. Kate looks down at the shirt, considering, then back at him, without a hint of discomfort on her face. "No," she smirks.

And she walks past him, arm brushing his (it's deliberate, has to be) before she heads back to the stairs, hips swaying, graceful even in the too-large t-shirt that looks shapeless on her.

Kate.

He stays still for a handful of seconds, stunned into immobility by the play of those long, toned, gorgeous legs - and then he remembers to follow.

* * *

><p>She waits for him inside, an arm curled around her waist, pressing the soft cotton of his t-shirt into her own skin as if it could absorb his smell.<p>

Her swimsuit is still wet, and now his shirt is, too, but for some reason she doesn't expect any sort of complaint. She saw the look in his eyes when he asked to have it back - he didn't mean a word of it.

She could probably even keep it. If she wanted to.

Which she doesn't, _right_, because she's not a thirteen-year-old with a crush. Jeez, Kate.

Her mouth curves into an involuntary smile. No, she's a thirty-two-year-old with a crush. Is that any better?

"What's so funny?"

His blue eyes beseech her, so bright even in the dimming light; her heart stumbles in her chest, irregular, halted beats that run into each other as she looks up at his face.

Something else was wrong with her sentence. He's not a crush.

He's-

So much more.

"Nothing," she answers at last, with a little shake of her head. She hardly remembers what his question was.

"You're still smiling," he points out, and he gives her a smile of his own, this cute little boy grin that makes her want to kiss him. Oh, jeez. She's having a hard time keeping track of this conversation.

"Am I?"

She can feel the thud of her heart against her ribs, ruthless, brutal; it's so loud in her ears, almost drowns out his voice. She should move, do something, instead of standing here transfixed like an idiot, but she can't get her legs working.

Castle does move, though, stepping closer, into her space, his large frame blocking out the light, and her oxygen too.

His free hand comes up to her cheek, his palm warm, his thumb tender against her bone-

"Why, if it isn't my favorite couple on this boat!" a jovial voice exclaims not but two steps from them, making Kate jump back and suck in a startled breath.

Oh, no. No. Come _on._

Josh the Jerk is standing in front of them, white teeth flashing in what must be the most insincere smile Kate has ever seen.

"Josh," Castle drops at last, his tone flat, but still somewhat courteous. It's a good thing he's so composed, because all she wants to do is slap the guy in the face.

She shifts closer to Castle, slides her arm along his, lets her fingers curl at his elbow.

Can't be much more obvious.

"I was going to the swimming-pool," the man goes on, unperturbed. "But seeing you two coming back, I guess now might be a little late, huh? Must be cold outside."

"Only when you've been out of the water for a while," the writer replies with an even voice.

Kate hears what he's not saying: _go to the pool, go wherever you want, just as long as it's not with us. _But unfortunately, Josh doesn't hear the same.

"Eh. Plenty of time for that, isn't there? I'll walk back with you."

She feels the slow, controlled sigh that Castle lets out, feels his ribs ripple with it against her hand. His skin is soft, softer than she'd have expected; want flares in her belly, claws painfully at her insides.

She wants him alone, alone-

"Sure," she hears him say, and he tugs her forward after stupid, smirking Josh.

They follow him down the corridor, then into the stairs, the thunder of Kate's heart thankfully covering whatever nonsense the man might be saying; at the next turn, however, they stumble into a familiar face.

"There you are," Violet exclaims, pushing back her sunglasses and unveiling her pale blue eyes. It's amazing, the difference between hers and Castle's; blue almost seems like a different color on her.

Ice and frost, instead the inviting warmth that always dances in her partner's face.

"I need the key card, Josh," the blond woman says tightly. "You took it from me, remember? Because you forgot your own, like the idiot you are. And now my phone is stuck inside the room, and you know - you *know* - that I _need it_!"

Her control seems to escape her, the last words coming out shriller than the rest, and Kate winces. Her partner recoils a little, snuggling closer to her, as if looking for protection; she has to bite her lip to keep the smile in.

"There is your damn key, woman," Josh says, annoyed, throwing the card at her. "Go get your damn phone. God forbid you should ever be without it for more than one minute."

The card bounces against her forearm, falls to the ground; Violet's eyes narrow.

"Pick it _up_," she says, the words heavy with threat.

Josh shrugs. "You want it? You get it."

Her nostrils flare.

"Pick. It. Up."

"We'll, um, we'll leave you to it," Castle says weakly, operating a hasty retreat and taking Kate with him.

Neither Josh nor Violet seems to notice.

Kate presses her lips together, manages to hold back her laughter until they're at a safe distance. And then they stop running, look at each other; Castle starts laughing first, but she's not long to follow.

"Oh, god," she pants, resting a hand on the wall. "I don't think the marriage therapy is doing them any good."

"Oh, you think? *I* think it's making them worse," Castle emphasizes with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "Seriously. Yesterday, they were just ignoring each other - but today? Oh man. I don't know how they're not divorced already."

Kate presses a hand to her smiling mouth, shaking her head. He's right; he's absolutely right-

"You know," he adds, "I don't know why we even bothered with the fake fights. Those two are the perfect victims, if there really is a murderer. We should just keep an eye on them."

She stops laughing, for good this time, stares at Caste in surprise.

"What?" he says. "What did I say-?"

"You're right," she states disbelievingly, frustrated that she didn't think of this sooner. "You're right, Castle. We should just - follow them around, really."

He looks strangely unhappy for someone who's just been told he's right.

"Ew, no. Come on. I was joking. Kate, please. I don't want to spend my last night on this boat with _Josh_ and _Violet_." He says their names like they're a particularly vile sort of worm; she can't help the smile that flickers on her lips. "Please?"

Oh, and the puppy dog eyes.

"Too bad, Castle. You should have thought about it before you shared your genius idea. I'm afraid you'll have to keep Josh and Violet company tonight."

He gives her a dark look, sighs, and grimaces.

"Well I'm warning you, I'm not dancing with her," he grumbles as he sags against the wall.

Kate lets her smile grow as she steps closer, feathers her fingers against his throat, using her hand to lift his chin. His eyes meet hers, a mixture of suspicion and arousal; she gives herself a second to enjoy it, before she draws closer, her lips brushing his.

"You're not dancing with Violet tonight," she murmurs, certain she has his attention. "You're not dancing with Violet or _anyone else_, Rick." His mouth is so close; she can feel the warmth, so tempting, and she gives in for just a second, presses the lightest of kisses there.

And then she smiles into his lips.

"Because you're mine," she finishes in a fierce breath.

* * *

><p>This is the worst idea he's ever had. The worst.<p>

"Don't make me," he whines into Kate's ear, standing close enough at the bar to feel her curves against his body. He'll keep whining and making jokes about them under his breath if it means staying this close.

"Get going, Rick." She hums on a laugh and reaches back to brush her hand over the outside of his thigh. Doesn't make him want to move away from her one little bit. Surely she knows that?

"But you promised-"

"It's not even a slow dance," she says, turning so that her back is against the bar, her hips pressed into his. "And you don't have to stay out there. Take her off the dance floor."

He sucks in a breath and tries to figure out what she's getting at here, figure out what she's saying with her eyes (since her words are wrong wrong wrong), but the lights in the ballroom are too dim. He has no idea what lies behind this, this hip movement, this press of her lower body against his.

_You're mine._

Oh. That's what she's saying - with her hips.

Shiiiit. He's in trouble. He can't do this. "I don't want to dance with her. I want to dance with you."

They went back to the room, called in to check with Esposito, changed clothes, and then went looking for Josh or Violet. Somehow, they found them here, dancing, and now it's time to attract some attention. So Kate says.

She strokes a hand along his forearm, quick and light, takes another sip from her glass. He sees her eyes dart over his shoulder and the sex vanishes from her body.

"Here he comes. Go, Castle."

Damn. Time to go. He reaches out and grabs the rest of her vodka martini, throws it back without even feeling it. Is this his fourth or fifth? He can't remember; he just needs it.

"Rick. Now."

He sighs and leaves her there, leaves her at the mercy of Josh II, passes the man as he heads for the dance floor. The couple was out on the floor together (about as not together as two people could be and still be called together), and then Kate made eyes at Josh, which Castle hated, intensely hated, which made him drink a few more vodkas than he generally liked, and now-

Now he's switching partners. Ug. Her nails are too long; they scratch whenever she touches him. He hates that.

Rick heads straight for Violet, who is dancing with a coupe of guys already, the beat loud and head-hurting, and she smiles that slow, evil smile when he approaches.

"Hellllooo, Rick," she calls and saunters towards him, all hips and hands (nails), and then she's wrapping her fingers around his waist and tugging him in. "You've been watching me allll night."

Ug. This is worse than he expected. She turns him off. If that's possible. He's never experienced a woman whose every movement actually made him grow cold, but here she is. Not even Gina makes him so sick at the very thought.

"Dance," she rasps, her mouth at his ear. He suppresses the urge to shudder in revulsion and shakes his head. He needs a drink for this.

"Let's get out of the crowd."

"Ohh, just you and me?"

Damn. "Uh. Well, let's get something to drink at the bar-"

"Nooo," she whines, pouting at him. "My husband is at the bar. So's your wife."

"She won't mind," he says, before he can think, and Violet's eyebrows raise a little, but there's calculation there, not surprise.

Oh shit. What did he say? He meant - oh, no. Fix it. "Uh. Well, maybe Josh will mind?" He doubts it, but yeah, maybe he doesn't really want to go up there and watch Kate simper at Josh II. Yeah, no, he really doesn't. Stupid idea, Castle. But he doesn't want to dance-

"My husband is a jackass. Are you another jackass, Rick?" But the way she says it, malice and sex combined, only makes him shrivel.

"Probably so," he says back, hoping, stupidly, to turn her off. "I'm here, aren't I?"

She warms to him again, drapes herself over his chest, her hands roaming. "Gooood," she purrs, bites his earlobe. "Just what I like."

Shit.

"Dance with me. Then we'll get drinks," she says, and bumps her body against his.

He cuts his eyes back to the bar, sees Kate withstanding a similar approach from Josh II, her eyes like ice despite the openness of her posture, and then she's looking for him as well.

Her gaze meets his, long-suffering and misery in that glance, and then she turns away.

This was the worst idea he's ever had.

* * *

><p>It's the four of them at a table near the back of the dining room; Kate hasn't touched another drink since Josh started getting handsy, but Castle's really going at it. He sends her these puppy dog looks and it takes everything in her not to cave.<p>

Josh is at her right, Castle next to him around the table, then Violet between her and Castle. Violet's been both commanding and ditzy, a strange combination, but Kate's been busy fending off the worst of Josh the Jackass's smooth plays. Too busy to really see what Castle has been doing.

His misery, to her at least, is loud and clear.

But since this is their last night, they have to draw out the murderer. Make it splashy, Josh and Violet's abhorrence with one another. Something.

Castle knocks back another drink, winces, then pulls Violet's hand from somewhere south. The slow burn of Kate's temper ignites again; she turns her eyes away and looks at Josh.

He's trying to whisper in her ear, something about this trip he took to Tibet and a temple there, a spiritual experience (yeah, right), and Kate just can't take any more of this.

Especially not when she can see, out of the corner of her eye, Castle trapped in his chair as Violet presses in closer.

"I'm going to freshen up," she says suddenly, unwinding Josh's hand from her thigh and standing up. "Violet. Join me." She hoists the woman by the arm and starts for the door.

Kate catches some kind of strange communication going on between Violet and Josh, something there that hasn't been before, but Kate ignores it and keeps going. Once in the hallway, Violet straightens her skirt and pulls her phone out of her purse.

"Rick sure is clever," Violet murmurs to her, even as she's got her nose buried in her phone. "Wonder if he's that clever in bed."

How is she supposed to answer that? _I wouldn't know? _

Kate pushes open the bathroom door and lets it swing back and catch Violet in the forearm; Violet doesn't seem to notice. Kate takes a breath at the sinks and looks at herself in the mirror.

None of exasperation shows on her face. Good. There's a hint of the hunted woman in the pinch of her eyes, but probably only Castle knows that look for what it is. She's brushing her hand through her hair when Violet starts again.

"So you two do this a lot?"

"First cruise," Kate says carefully.

Violet laughs. "We've been working the cruise thing a lot lately. Good feeding ground, you know?"

Much of the floozy has gone out of her now; her voice is predatory and calculating. Kate stills at the sink, wonders if this is a confession.

"Oh? How so?" Her heart pounds.

"Oh come on. Why else are you two here? Lots of broken hearts. Makes it easy." Violet pulls lipstick out of her purse, lines her lips with it, leaning over the sinks and looking at Kate in the mirror. "Not that you guys were easy." She gives a little laugh. "You. . .interested in girls too?"

Wait. What?

Kate stares at her for a moment, dumbstruck, and then the whole evening becomes clear.

"No? Fine. No problem. We'll keep it straight up."

That's. . .this. . .oh, no. It's a proposition.

Kate heads out of the bathroom, back down the hall, hearing Violet behind her, laughing about being eager. Kate's right at the ball room doors, searching through the insufficient light for her partner when it happens.

Castle punches Josh.

Josh goes down.


	7. Chapter 7

**LOVE BOAT**

by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>There is something so incredibly satisfying about putting his fist into the man's face, listening to the lovely crack of bone, and watching Josh collapse to the floor.<p>

All of the evening's tension evaporates, the grimy feeling of Violet's claws all over him, the sour taste of alcohol in his mouth, the muted indignation at having to watch Josh II touch Kate with those slimy hands; it's all washed off him, cleansed with this one, blissful punch.

Amazing.

He stares, uncomprehending, at Josh as the man presses a hand to his nose, moves his lips in what must be a series of curses; Castle can't hear, can't hear anything at all. The ecstasy singing in his veins is too loud, overpowering.

It takes Kate's voice to shake him out of his trance.

"Rick," she calls - he wonders at the first name before he remembers, right, cover - and the hint of panic, the relief in her tone brings him back to earth in the space of a second. "Rick, your hand."

He looks at her and she's beautiful, so beautiful, the tumble of dark curls over her shoulder, the deep, intelligent eyes, the long line of her neck; a wave of desolation crashes over him when he thinks back to Josh's words.

He pulls her into his arms, a little brusquely if her soft exclamation is any indication, and cradles her to his chest, holds her close, his precious Kate. He presses his lips to her ear, her jaw, her neck, doesn't stop even when she shivers; he has to clean Josh's offense somehow, lick it off her skin, the stain of that filthy man's mouth.

She's too good, too good - she deserves so much more-

"Castle," she breathes against his skin, before she gently pushes him away; her hands cup his cheeks firmly, make him look at her. "Hey. You with me?"

Yes, yes, always. Always with her.

But he's slowly emerging from the haze of adrenaline and alcohol, and so he simply nods, his conscience clearing.

"We have to do something for your hand," Kate says. Soft voice, soft eyes: everything about her is soft, and for some strange reason it makes him want her even more.

But she's cradling his right hand between both of hers, her fingers light and gentle, and so he looks, sees the swollen knuckles, the blood, with as much interest and detachment as if it was someone else's hand.

"Come with me."

Not that he has a choice, because she's still holding his hand close to her chest, like a little girl with a treasure. His slowly spanning awareness informs him that people are staring, but most of them are going back to their own business, whether it be dancing or drinking.

Kate leads them to the bar, asks the bartender if he has ice. She makes him sit on a stool - he doesn't need it; his balance is just fine - and then leans against him, her cheek brushing his shirt, his shoulder.

"Defended my honor, didn't you?" she murmurs. Her tone is wry, but there's something behind it, a deep weariness that makes his heart clench. He laces his left arm around her waist, presses her to him.

She brushes an unexpected kiss to his cheek; he stills, then gives her a smile. It takes him long enough to remember how to do that.

Her palm comes up to his cheek, thumb caressing his temple. "What did he say, Rick?"

Ug. No. She doesn't want to know. He's a *man*, for god's sake, and he still wants to throw up at the memory. He shakes his head at her, silent but immovable. He's not telling.

She accepts that with a sigh, rests her hand at the junction of neck and shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she says, lower lip curled up between her teeth. "I thought-"

He wants to silence her with his index finger, winces when he moves his right hand. Ah. He's starting to feel it. Just a dull throb for now, not even pain; but he knows it's coming. Kate catches his hand, kisses the back of it with such gentleness that he wants to cry.

Jeez. She's right, isn't she? He's such a girl.

"Here's your ice," the bartender says sympathetically, handing over a bucket of it, and a napkin.

Kate hoists herself onto the next bar stool, starts wrapping ice cubes in the cloth; he finds himself vaguely wondering if Josh and Violet are still here, if the harpy is doing the same for her husband at the other end of the bar. Unlikely. And Castle doesn't feel the slightest need to turn and check.

The bite of the cold is no surprise, but it's not pleasant either, especially with the way his blood eagerly responds, pounding in his fingers, making him grit his teeth against the white edge of pain.

Shit. It hurts.

He should know better than to use his fist on a guy's face; last time, with Hal Lockwood, was bad enough. It was a couple days before he could type again.

"I seem to have developed quite a habit of punching guys for you," he tries to joke, keep the agony of his hand at bay.

Kate smirks, but sadness flashes at the back of her eyes; he mentally thumps his head. He's an idiot.

She doesn't let him take her down, though.

"I wouldn't call twice a habit," she points out after a second, and he's grateful for that, the lift of the eyebrow, the curve of the mouth. "And it's not my fault," she adds, faking innocence, "if you can't solve a conflict using your words, like any civilized man."

He laughs at that, has to, because more often than not in his life, his words have gotten him *into* fights rather than out of them; the dark humor dancing in her eyes tells him that she knows that, too.

She moves the ice on his fingers and he hisses in surprise, his whole body stiffening.

"Sorry," she winces.

"Eh. At least I'll live," he says, trying to comfort himself. _Unlike those two dead guys._

Kate goes very still, lifts her eyes to him, large and bright with realization. "Castle."

"What?" he whispers back, glancing in concern at her hands that have curled around the improvised ice pack. He fears a too-sudden move. She notices his look, of course, and rolls her eyes at him. "You big baby," she mutters as she secures the ice again.

"You were saying?" he asks when he meets her eyes again.

"In the bathroom, Violet said - she said they've been doing this for a while, she and Josh. Going on these therapy cruises, hitting on couples who are already fighting."

"Why am I not surprised?" Castle mutters, although the disgust in his stomach is real.

"Hush. Don't you see? If it's true - if she and Josh have been on a few of those cruises, acting like they have, and they're still fine, they're still _alive_-"

"-then there's no murderer," he understands at last, following her reasoning. "Those deaths were only accidents."

"I think so, yeah," she says slowly, her brow furrowed, deep in thought. "Their behavior is very similar to the Smith's - at least, the impression we got from Karen's testimony - and if there was a murderer, he would have picked up on them. Right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think you're right." And he can't quite concentrate with the pain that flares into his fingers, raw heat licking at his skin.

"How's the hand?" Kate asks. She can always tell, can't she?

"Don't you get tired of asking that question?" he shoots back feebly, going for a smile.

He's not sure he makes it past a grimace. She shakes her head at him, but she looks more amused than anything. And tender. Yeah.

Tender looks good on her.

"I don't need a hero, Rick," she tells him quietly. "I'd rather you just stay alive."

Her words echo between them, the ripple of deeper meaning sinking into him, and he takes his left hand off the small of her back, curls it around her neck to bring her close, his lips at her cheekbone.

"Do my best," he promises as he breathes her in.

* * *

><p>Kate realizes he's not exactly sober only when he drapes himself against her as they head out of the ballroom. Too heavy, too slow. He doesn't stumble, his words don't slur, but she sees the way his eyelids droop.<p>

Drinking slowly with Josh and Violet can't have made him very happy, and the more he knocked back, the worse his mood got. Apparently.

"Castle?" she murmurs.

"Yeah." A sigh.

"You're drunk."

"No. Not. . .I don't think I drank enough for that. Just tired."

She bites her lip and eases him off of her a little bit, holding him up by an elbow, steering him around a large group heading down the stairs to the ballroom.

"Manage the stairs?"

"Oh, yeah. No problem." He goes up ahead of her, not doing too bad really, and even though she expects him to stumble, he keeps his balance. Maybe he's not drunk at all. Just a letdown of adrenaline and a night of Josh and Violet. Probably not even a good buzz.

She puts a hand to his back to steady him just in case; he goes on up the stairs to the top deck. Their stateroom is two levels down, but to get there, they have to switch staircases. She maybe should've led them down the hall outside the ballroom to the end stairs, not the middle, circular staircase that leads up here.

Castle takes a deep breath in the night air, his hand cradled against his chest with the ice resting atop his knuckles. Kate watches him a moment, then wraps an arm around his waist and guides him forward.

"Come on."

"It's nice up here. I like it."

"Hmm."

"The stars are so bright."

"They are," she murmurs back, smiling at him. Okay, not drunk, maybe a little less inhibited, a little more sentimental.

"Come look," he says, heading to the railing beside a lifeboat. She shivers as a brisk wind whips down the deck, but the sea is calm. Kate follows Castle over. He reaches out for the railing, to hold on, but a rock of the ship and another gust of wind, and he misses, swaying back.

Kate clenches her arm at his waist, but he's already overcompensating, pitching forward to right himself, but instead he goes too far-

"Castle!" she gasps, grabbing his belt as his body nearly tilts right over the railing. "Oh God. Castle-"

He clutches the rail, her arm, they manage to tug him back over, his feet on the ground again. They slump to the deck, leaning against the side, and he laughs. All of that in seconds. The blink of an eye.

"So, there you go."

"What?" she mutters, a head in her hand as she tries to recover her breath. Her other hand is still tight in his belt; she's not sure she can let go yet.

"Proves it. Right? Easy to go overboard if you're drunk and stupid."

"You're not even that drunk," she murmurs, pressing her hand to her cheek.

He laughs again. "Not that drunk, by I am that stupid?"

"No!" She jerks her head towards him but he's grinning at her. A dopey, relieved grin that makes his face light up. She softens. "No, Castle. Not stupid. Maybe just accident-prone? You seem to always be getting in trouble."

He lifts a hand to her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. Her heart, which was pounding after his near slip over the railing, picks up again.

"Castle."

They're in the floor, her knees pressed against his thigh, his legs sprawled before him, one of her hands still tight in his belt, and he leans in, coming closer, his nose nudging hers.

"Kate."

"Okay," she murmurs, not sure really what she's giving him permission to do-

_Oh, get real, Beckett._ She knows exactly what she's allowing him to do, giving in to. She knows, and she wants it.

His mouth against hers is hesitant, gentle, too clever (oh no, not drunk, is he?), and she tightens her fingers in his belt, tugs at him.

Of course, he doesn't pull closer; she's the one getting pulled. A knee sliding over his thigh, her other hand on his chest, she presses her lips harder into his, her tongue traveling the contours of his mouth.

His fingers work at her chin, her jaw, tug her back. "Room, Kate."

Oh. Oh, goodness. They're on the top deck of the _Gem_, out in the open, she's practically straddling him. And he's. . .drunk? Not very. He looks stone sober now.

His fingers twitch around her jaw and she pulls back, breath rattling in her chest, helps him up. Away from the railing. "Let's go."

Back to their room. The small room with its one bed. With its privacy.

With her buzzing body, her need.

* * *

><p>He cannot stay away from her.<p>

The tight grip of arousal in his guts, the endless wonder in his heart - they keep jerking him forward, pushing him into her, his hand at her hip, his mouth at her neck, in a constant plea for assurance that this is real. That it's happening.

And Kate, oh, Kate, far from shoving him away or telling him to wait, mirrors every little touch, every brush of fingers and every flick of tongue, undulating her hips against his and panting hot little breaths into his ear.

Needless to say, it takes them a considerable time to get back to the room.

Not that he would dare complain about it.

"Mm, Castle, let me get my key," she pleads against his lips when they're finally standing at the door, but he can't, he can't - not when her mouth is so warm and responsive under his, her tongue doing wicked things to him, her hands wound so tight into his hair that it almost hurts.

He backs her into the wall instead, loving the soft thump when she meets it, the knowledge that her long, lithe body is trapped under his now. No possible escape. He growls in pleasure and launches his next attack, targeting her neck this time, the pale skin that almost shines in the dim light, calls to him.

Kate lets out a sound that, however faint, cannot be called anything but *needy*; something dark inside him rejoices to hear it, immediately resolves on making it happen again. His hands are at her waist, fingers digging into the fabric, seeking skin; for the first time tonight, he finds himself unhappy with the dress she's wearing.

If only it was a shirt - he could pull it up, caress her ribs, let his hand travel-

Eh, he does it anyway, the travelling thing, his thumbs encountering appealing curves on the way up. Kate gasps and arches, her leg shooting up to cradle his hip, high heel digging into the back of his thigh; this time he moans along with her, and it's just as satisfying.

Oh, God help him - Kate -

Voices at the end of the corridor tear through the haze in his mind, laughter, shouting; she must hear them too, because she stills and drops her leg, rests both her palms on his chest, as if to push him away.

Except she doesn't; she hides her face in his neck, the riot of her breath tickling his skin, fast, uneven.

The voices fade away and he's left hesitating, too aware of the trembling weight of Kate Beckett in his arms, too aware that without the interruption of these people he might have taken her right there, in a deserted passageway. It's not okay, it's not, and he doesn't know what she-

She chooses that moment to lift her face from the refuge of his neck, torturously slowly, and he waits with bated breath until he gets a look at her eyes.

Her eyes - her eyes are so dark, bottomless, wider than he's ever seen them-

"Inside, Castle," she orders, and her husky voice rattles everything in his chest. Before he knows it his hand is fishing into his back pocket, getting the key card out, opening the door with it. _Anything you want, Kate, I'll give you anything, just ask. Just ask._

He lets her go first and she turns to him, takes his hand, her face alive with expectation and desire, dark hair, dark eyes, dark smile. And something else he's been dying to see in her eyes when she looks at him.

Confidence.

His heart thumps with gratitude and amazement as her fingers curl around his, and she draws him towards her.

Inside.

* * *

><p>Even after that, all that, her heart still beats; she can taste her pulse pounding in her mouth as she gulps to catch her breath.<p>

She opens her eyes, her lashes brushing his shoulder, feels his fingers gentling at her side, his body heavy over hers in their bed. Her cheek presses at the round joint where his arm meets his collarbone; she can see the dark line of his throat, the echoing pulse at his neck. She kisses with teeth and nudges him with her nose.

He groans and lifts up on his elbows, hair falling messily on his forehead. She makes a move to brush it back, but her eyes catch movement just over them. He touches his forehead to her chin, breathing hard and hot against her neck. But she's caught their reflection-

in the mirror above the bed.

Her eyes trace the long, strong line of him, the image of his body interrupted only by her arm around his neck; she curls her fingers at his nape, nails in his scalp, feels him, sees him shudder.

She blinks, stunned by the look in her own eyes. Happy, yes, sated and drowsy and dark-eyed, yes. But . . . in love.

In love with him.

She raises her knee up along the side of his thigh, shifts a little to cradle him, contain him, presses her mouth to his temple. Grins.

"Castle," she murmurs, knowing he hears the rough edge in her voice.

"Oh, yeah," he groans back; his teeth nip at her neck.

She bites her bottom lip, still grinning. "Castle, you sunbathe in the nude?"

"What?" He jerks his head back to look at her, sees her laughing amusement, then tracks her gaze, follows her line of sight to the mirrors above the bed.

"Oh God," he mutters and buries his face in her neck.

She laughs and watches herself be happy, be sated, be _in love_. With him. Oh God.

"It's my natural color," he growls, wraps an arm around her neck and flips them over. She shivers when her back hits the air, half sprawled over him, but he's already pulling the sheet up over their bodies with his foot. He hesitates, brushes his hand over her - the swell of her hip, her lower back, around her curves, making her shiver again. She knows he's looking in the mirror as he does it.

"Castle," she laughs, kisses the rough stubble of his jaw. "I'm freezing."

He hums and pulls the sheet up; she turns her head and sees the profile of his grin, lets her gaze drift to meet his eyes in the mirror overhead.

He blushes and she laughs at him, lifts up on an elbow to watch him, bottom lip in her teeth. "You blushing, Castle?"

"I found your tattoo," he grins back.

"Mm, you did. Thoroughly."

His grin is wolfish; his smile so wide it narrows his eyes. "I thoroughly liked your tattoo."

"I could tell." She slides her hand over his ribs, presses her thumb to his sternum. "Give me a minute and you can like it thoroughly all over again. And I can watch."

He huffs and turns so that they're both lying on their sides. Kate reaches out and snakes her finger along the line of his bangs, down the side of his face. He captures her wandering fingers and leaves them there, shading his eyes with their joined hands.

"That's freaky," he whispers. "They're watching us."

"Only if you watch them."

"Were you watching them?" His voice is dark, rich with something untapped. She wants to find that again, later, but maybe she'll just play with it for now.

"I missed the show-" she laughs.

"Oh no you didn't," he grins, the light, the laughter back in his voice, the animal gone again. "You *were* the show."

She grins at that, can't help grinning at the way he soaks her in, delighted and entertained and entirely too talkative for a man who just - she bites her lip - had a damn fine show.

"Next time then," she murmurs, laughs again, and leans in to press her lips to his adam's apple. She's smiling too much, laughing too much, but it's like it wants out, wants free of her, escapes when she's too lethargic and humming and wonderful to care.

Castle growls deep in his throat; she can feel it vibrate down her jaw. His fingers curl around hers, nudge her chin to bring her mouth up to his. She expects more heat, but instead he goes slowly, drawing her in, working his way deeper.

Kate shifts closer, untangles their hands so she can press her fingertips to the skin over his heart, her palm warmed just by proximity.

His fingers slides through her hair, his palm to her ear, and he tugs her back, breaking the seal of their mouths.

Her eyes fill, shiny but smiling. She can't help it, but she won't let it spoil anything, won't let it past the guardian of her body. She watches him until she can get her breath back, until she can be both split open under his gaze and stronger for it.

"Kate."

Grateful there's no question to her name, she tilts her head forward against his, breathes, kisses the skin she finds, the fingers that reach down to touch her chin, her throat.

He doesn't say anything more, just breathes with her, runs his hand down her back to pull her body closer.

"I'm here," she murmurs, kisses the underside of his jaw, finds his ear. "I'm where I want to be."

"I know," he says back, his voice low and certain, a gift. "But jeez, took you long enough."

She laughs hard, feels his fingers tight on her hip to keep hold of her; she has to pull back to suck in a breath, brush the tears from her cheeks. "Oh. Castle. What an ego." She sighs and leans back on the pillow, realizes it's his arm instead, and smiles again, doesn't move. "But you've needed it, haven't you? To survive me."

"Damn straight. I deserve a medal or something."

She wraps her arms around his neck, her cheek to his, for a moment forgoing the sexual to just - hold him close. A kiss at his cheek has his arms coming around her as well, hugging back.

"A medal of valor," she says, leans her head back to look at him, draws her arms down.

She slides her fingers through the hair at his temples, scrapes her fingers at his scalp, her thumbs at the corners of his crinkled eyes. Happy eyes. Eyes at peace.

"The Purple Heart," he says.

"Have you been wounded while engaging the enemy?" Her thumbs smooth out the crows' feet.

"No. Maybe blue balls, but not a purple heart."

She rolls her eyes, pats his cheek as if in sympathy. "No Purple Heart. We'll work on the other."

He grins even wider, nearly a leer but his look is too happy for that. He turns into her, wriggling closer. "Medal of Honor then."

Kate smiles slowly, stroking her thumbs away from those smiling eyes, his lips at her wrist. "Above and beyond the call of duty. Hmm, I think you're right." She leans in, presses her open mouth to his, licks his bottom lip, trails a line along his jaw and back to his ear. "Castle?"

"Huh?"

Mm, good - little bewildered, little breathless.

"Your Medal of Honor. Where should I pin it?"


	8. Chapter 8

**LOVE BOAT**

by **Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>He has to slip out of bed in the middle of the night - an irrepressible need to pee - and when he comes out of the bathroom, he pauses, humbled, arrested by the sight he's offered.<p>

They didn't bother to close the curtains, and the moon casts its silver glow over their little room; Kate's hair scintillates with it, light catching in her dark curls. It spills on her forearm too, the pale glisten of it, on the wrist that she's rested on the pillow, next to her cheek.

She looks like something out of a dream. A painting. The sheet draped over her perfect form, the gorgeous play of shadows-

He shakes his head, struck silent. No words.

There are no words for it. Her.

His heart hammers in his chest, jumbled, quickened beats that belie the peacefulness of the scene; he has to swallow past the lump in his throat, force his feet forward.

He eases back into the bed, as quiet as he can; he tries to make himself light, one leg after the other, so that she won't feel the mattress shift with his weight. He's almost there, reaching for his corner of the sheet, when she moves.

He goes completely still, breath gathered in his throat, waiting on her; but she only scoots closer, the warmth of her body enveloping him, arm close, forehead flirting with his shoulder.

He lets the air out of his lungs, slow and relieved, closes his eyes in amazement.

Thank you, God.

* * *

><p>He wakes with Kate Beckett in his arms, and he can't remember the last time anything's felt so good.<p>

He lies there for a long moment, eyes closed, reveling in it, her heat against him, the feel of sunlight on his face, and then he opens his eyes.

Kate is awake, and she's watching him.

He blinks slowly, stunned by the absorption on her face, the sunlight in a nimbus around her body, gilding her skin, and then she uncurls a finger, strokes it down his nose.

She's gonna kill him. She's gonna twist his heart into a mess of adoring knots. Hopelessly tangled up in her.

"Hey," she whispers, and trails that one finger down the groove that brackets his mouth. She leans in, hardly even a breath exists between them, and she kisses the spot just above her finger, as if she's marked her place.

Picking up where she left off.

"Hey," he whispers back, and he knows his voice sounds shaky and weird and probably a little too desperately awed, but he can't help it. He kisses her back, avoiding her mouth, skimming the line of her cheekbone as she feels her way across his face, her lips following her exploring finger.

"Watching you sleep," she murmurs against him, and it's one of the most romantic things he's ever heard, ever felt; he's reduced, a total sap, a mess of quivering hormones and heart, and she was watching him sleep.

"Kinda get why you do the creepy staring thing," she says, her mouth moving to his ear, a puff of breath.

"Yeah. Good, huh?"

She laughs then, a delicious sound that curls around him. "Yeah. Good. Very good."

"I'll show you very good," he says, and shifts her above him, his eyes glancing to the mirror and back.

Her thighs slide to bracket his hips; she raises up. He can see her here and overhead. Glorious.

"You already have, but I'm not opposed to seeing it again."

* * *

><p>Kate calls Esposito while Castle showers. She's lying in bed, flat on her back, and there's something ridiculously satisfying about looking at her reflection in the ceiling and lounging in the sheets while her team is already at the precinct, working.<p>

Going undercover does have its perks.

She sums up last night's events for the Hispanic detective, explains their decision to stick around Josh and Violet because they made good potential victims; it's actually rather tricky, because she has to leave out so much, the...evolution in her relationship with Castle, the pool, the reason she decided against making the writer a target.

There's no talking her way around Josh and Violet's - peculiar - habits, though, and of course Esposito is thoroughly entertained.

"Swingers?" he echoes, his voice stuck halfway between disbelief and laughter. Then it grows suspicious - she can see the way his eyes narrow just as clearly as if she were standing in front of him. "Beckett. You messing with me?"

"Do I sound like I am, Esposito?"

She rolls her eyes at his beat of hesitation, meets her own gaze in the mirror; an involuntary smirk plays on her lips. This is... fun. Sorta. Kinda.

Eh. It *is* fun.

The other detective has apparently decided to believe her. "Alright. Swingers. So what did they do? Proposition you? Man, I wish I could have seen Castle's face," he regrets, and the grin on her face widens.

"Wish you could have seen it too," she drops without thinking. In her mind, the scene plays again; Castle hits Josh and Josh goes down, and then it's the writer's arms around her, his mouth at her cheekbone. She closes her eyes.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ryan complains - she had no idea he was listening in, too. "Beckett, come on, have some mercy. You're the one having all the fun on your cruise; at last share the juicy bits. What did Castle do?"

She bites her lip, wondering what to say. She sort of wants to keep it to herself, Castle's chivalry, the outrage in his eyes, battling with the need to protect her - but at the same time, Ryan's right. She *is* the one having all the fun. Oh yeah, she thinks darkly, her body remembering last night, a flip of her stomach and a flush in her chest.

Last night _and _this morning.

Maybe she can share the more...PG-rated parts.

"He punched Josh," she finally lets out, knowing her voice doesn't hide any of her amusement. Ah, well.

"He _what_?" The mirroring exclamations of surprise make her smile wide; she catches a glimpse of teeth and tongue in her reflection, feels like an adolescent girl talking about her latest crush. Really, Kate.

"Woah, wait," Ryan says. "Castle _punched_ the guy? What happened? What did he *say*?"

"I don't know," she says, laughing. "Castle won't tell."

"You're smiling," Esposito observes very astutely. But there's a knowing undercurrent to his voice, and she's suddenly very eager to change the subject.

"Anyway. Violet told me that they've been - been doing this - for a while now -"

"And by this," Ryan interrupts entirely too sweetly, "you mean going on cruises and trying to lure troubled couples into foursomes?"

"_Yes_, Ryan, it's what I mean. Now can I go on, or do you two need a minute to get over it? Maybe I should call Jenny," she adds, "tell her how interested her husband is in swinging partn-"

"That won't be necessary," he says hastily, and Esposito takes over, asks her for Josh and Violet's full names so that he can run a search on them.

Kate gives him all the information he needs, but she also tells him the truth - that she doesn't think Josh and Violet did it.

"Castle would love it if that were the case, but I didn't get that vibe from her. Check if they were on the same cruises as our victims, though. That should do it."

"But if it's not them, then who did it?" Ryan objects, sounding confused.

"Honestly, guys...I think maybe those deaths were just accidents. Castle himself wasn't steady on his feet last night and almost went overboard when we were going back to the room, so - we know there are places where the railing isn't quite flush with the life boat's housing."

"So you saved his life, uh? Clutched his shirt and kept from drowning in the Atlantic?" Esposito's voice is openly derisive, but she shrugs and lets it go, remembering with a shiver that split second when she thought he was going to topple over.

"You could say that."

She pushes back the sheets and swings her legs out of bed, taking a good look at the gorgeous blue of the sky, reflected by the ocean and only broken by the white foam that crests the waves. It's a beautiful day, but it doesn't have much to do with her current relaxed, happy state. There could be a storm outside and she would still feel like her whole being has been lit up from the inside.

Damn. Castle's making her sappy.

"How romantic," Ryan whispers suavely on the phone. "You saving his life on a deserted gangway, Castle looking into your eyes, shock and gratitude written on his face-"

"Maybe you should work for Black Pawn instead of the 12th, Ryan," she smirks. "Got a lot of imagination, that's for sure."

The door to the bathroom opens behind her; she feels the hot caress of steam lick her naked back. Then the mattress dips, giving her a moment's warning before Rick's hands tangle into her hair, gently pushing it to the side. He presses a warm kiss to the side of her neck; her lashes flutter.

"So what do I tell Gates?" Esposito is saying at the other end of the line. She swallows, focuses. The fingers wandering over her shoulder make it insanely difficult.

"Check the cruises, see if Josh and Violet were on them. If they weren't - which is most likely - tell her that the deaths were accidents."

"She's not going to like that."

"She'll have to, if it's the truth," Kate hisses sharply. Castle's hand is on her waist now, soft and tender, and her patience is quickly waning. "Call after you've talked to her," she concludes, and she hangs up before he can say anything else.

Her lips find Castle's and she can't help thinking that this is a much, much better use for them.

* * *

><p>He tries to convince her that missing their last session with the therapist is no big deal - he's reluctant to let her get out of bed at all, has this irrational fear that if she might not come back if he lets her walk away - but Kate is nothing if not stubborn.<p>

"No, Castle," she tells him, her brow knit and her voice definitive. "We're going. Get your ass out of bed, and get dressed."

He makes a small, whining sound at the back of his throat, not loosening his hold on her a bit; she turns narrowed eyes to him. And then, without warning, she snatches the pillow and smacks him with it, getting him in the face. The thing is too soft to hurt, but surprise suffocates him a little, and Kate gets another shot at him before he manages to wrench her weapon from her.

Of course, that's what she intended all along. Because now she's free, and she can wriggle out of bed, a flash of long legs and smooth skin that leaves him gaping. He looks down at the pillow in his hand, remembers.

"Kate Beckett. You're going to pay for this."

She's crouching down to get clothes from her bag, but she spares a second to glare back at him.

"No more, Castle." She is all cool threat now, and he feels a delicious shiver run down his back, plows ahead anyway.

"I didn't know you were one for pillow fights, detective," he grins, moving his hands so he's got a better grip on the pillow.

"Castle, I said no-"

She moves before he's even managed to get her, so fast that his brain can't follow; one moment she's on the floor, easy prey it seems, and the next she's pinning him down to the bed, fingers curled on his wrists, knees on either side of his waist.

Hot. He doesn't even care that she's taken the pillow away from him.

"What part of _no_ do you not understand?" she asks in a low voice. But he can tell it's all for show; there's no anger in her eyes, not even a hint of annoyance.

Her lips are parted, dark hair tumbling down her shoulders, breath coming out too fast, even with the stunt she just pulled out. She's as turned on by this as he is.

"I liked it better when you called me Rick," he murmurs, choosing to ignore her last - rhetorical - question.

Her eyes widen and he watches, fascinated, her struggle to get a grip on herself, the slow pull of her teeth over her bottom lip, the enticing shine of moisture on her red mouth.

She draws in a deep breath - his eyes are on the beautiful line of her neck, entranced - and then she smiles, a small, dark, cheeky thing.

"Liar," she says, and she slides off him.

Liar-?

Oh. That line about wanting her to call him Rick. Hmm. Okay. Not entirely true, he has to admit.

"Come on, Castle. Or I'm going without you."

That's all the incentive he needs to move.

* * *

><p>Alicia welcomes them with a smile, lets them in her spacious office. The morning light bathes the room in gold, every angle softened, every object embellished; Kate wonders if it's been like this every morning, and she was simply too nervous to notice.<p>

"Hello, Kate. Rick."

They sit in the same chairs as before; Kate tries to suppress a smile when she realizes that, realizes that they've already got their little habits here. Like a married couple, really.

Alicia's perceptive, warm brown eyes linger over them; she sets her elbows on her desk, rests her chin on top of her hands.

"I'm glad to see you both still looking so relaxed," she says with a curve of her lips. "Do you feel like this cruise is helping you? Like you've...found what you were looking for?"

Kate lifts surprised eyes to the woman. She tenses for a second, her NYPD reflexes kicking in - Alicia may know something, know about their investigation, be hiding information - but she relaxes quickly when she sees the therapist's friendly, innocent face.

She just means - their relationship.

Kate looks over at Castle, finds his eyes on her, gentle, happy eyes. Her breath catches in her chest.

"No," she finds herself answering, even though he's usually the one handling Alicia's first questions. "No, I think I've found - more?"

He understands; she sees it in his face, the beginnings of a smile, the startled joy in his eyes.

"More than I was looking for," she adds needlessly, a murmur intended for the therapist maybe, or herself.

Castle beams.

"That's a beautiful thing to say, Kate," Alicia says in a soft, encouraging voice. "Rick, do you want to answer that?"

He opens his mouth, closes it, shakes his head. Ha. She's struck the great Richard Castle speechless, hasn't she?

"Just." He struggles with words, hesitates, then goes all in, in true Castle fashion. Their chairs are close enough that he can grab her hand, hold it in hers as he says, "I love you, Kate. That's - that's all I want to say. I love you."

She knows she's grinning like an idiot, but she can't help it, no more than she can help the wild pounding of her heart. She bites her lip and squeezes his fingers, the only thing she can do, the only thing she _wants_ to do.

No need for words.

His hand, his eyes are saying it all, saying everything, and she knows hers must be, too.

She knows - she's known - that he loves her, but-

She's been waiting for this. She's been waiting for the day he would say the words again, and this time she wouldn't be dying, wouldn't be dazzled by the too-bright sun as she gasped for air in the grass, her whole world going black, despite the desperate urge in his voice.

She'd be his. She'd be ready.

She is ready.

* * *

><p><em>I think you two can overcome anything.<em>

The therapist's words ring in his ears long after they've left the room, follow him down the stairs to their deck, step over the threshold with him.

_A natural team. You two make great life partners._

They did. They do. Don't they?

"Espo texted me while we were in there," she says, pulling out her phone and checking her messages. She's all business now, hair scraped back behind her ears, mouth in a straight line, eyes flinty.

But in that therapist's room, she was all brimming hope and expectancy and wide-open heart. She was the woman who teased him last night even as he made her gasp.

The change isn't unwelcome, not at all. He likes this woman too, loves her, this side of her. No-nonsense and taking care of business.

"Those two weren't on either of the other cruises," Kate says, lifting her eyes to him. She's grinning, but his shoulders slump. "What?"

"I kinda wanted Josh to be a murderer," he confesses, wincing.

She bursts into laughter, drops her phone on the bed, and links her arms around the back of his neck. Surprised, stunned really, he traps her waist in his hands, feels her sway, swing, against him. Her mouth comes to his neck, sucks lightly at his skin, her tongue soothing.

"We dock in Cape Canaveral in two hours, Castle. There's no murder, no case. I'm not at all disappointed that Josh isn't my guy."

"Damn right he's not your guy," Castle growls back, bending his head to bite her jawbone, feeling her body arch suddenly against his. She likes it. Her hand in his hair tightens, her hips lower a little, but her heat is still pressed close.

"You my guy, Castle?" she mutters, tilting her head back as he works his way down her neck, teeth and tongue, scraping against the outline of her larynx.

"Yes," he says, pausing only to put the word right against her ear. Her head snaps down, her eyes hot and ready and intense on his.

"We've got two hours. Prove it."

* * *

><p>They take their bags with them, make stupid excuses about being all cured now, and the ship leaves port without them.<p>

Her body is still buzzing with awareness, bright and tropical heat inside her veins, and she barely notices the Florida humidity. She leads him to the cab stand just past the massive check-in center, rolling her suitcase behind her. When the driver puts her stuff in the trunk and she turns, she sees Castle hesitate.

"What?" she asks warily. She doesn't want him to come up with another bright idea; his last one ended with him punching Josh.

Well, no, actually, his last idea ended with her sprawled in the deck with him, clutching at his belt and wanting nothing more than to lead him by it back into their room.

So okay, bright ideas aren't so bad.

He doesn't answer, just watches his bag being loaded into the trunk next to hers.

She wonders if he's worried that things will go back to how they were; she extends her hand to him with an easy smile, squeezes his fingers when he takes it.

"Let's go home, Castle."

He gets in beside her and spends the whole drive to the airport brushing maddeningly at the skin of her hipbone, over and over, his eyes on the scenery. She is content to let him think, and touch, certain it will only be to their benefit.

Eventually anyway. There might be some punches involved, maybe a near-fall, but they'll get there.

At the airport, she takes her luggage and starts walking towards the desk - they'll have to buy their tickets here since Gates hadn't wanted to put a firm date on their return. Gates kept hinting, before they left, that Kate ought to get it cleaned up quickly. Perhaps the Captain meant for Beckett and Castle to put in a perfunctory effort and come home within 24 hours.

She pauses when she realizes that Castle isn't actually following behind her. When she turns her head to look for him, he grabs her by the wrist; his face is suddenly eager and alight.

"New plan," he says, nearly giddy. "Let's not fly home."

She laughs. "We have to go back sometime. Don't worry, I-"

"No, I know. I mean. Let's not go home on an airplane."

"What else is there, Castle?" she says, raising an eyebrow at him but reaching up to stroke her fingers down his cheek. "You okay?"

He captures her hand and kisses her palm, effortless and rather unconscious looking, and it makes her heart flip in her chest, her stomach drop out. How natural it is for him to love her. How easy.

And how she still hasn't really said it, has she? Because it's not so easy for her.

"I'm good. I'm fine. More than. No. I mean, let's rent a car and drive."

"Drive where?" She has no idea what sight-seeing there is to do in Cape Canaveral, and honestly, while she's not dying to get back to the city by tonight, she doesn't exactly want to hang out here either.

"Drive home," he answers, grinning at her. "Road trip."

"Road trip? Castle-" She starts to shake her head at him but he captures her with both palms against her cheeks, stills her instinctive denial.

"Wait. Just think about it. Take a couple days off, Kate. Here to New York is about 20 hours on I-95, so say tomorrow through Monday? That would only be three days PTO. We could just . . . have fun together."

She blinks at him, sees the car rental place just over his shoulder. He's serious, and he's happy, and he wants to have fun with her.

But she has a job she needs-

No. No more excuses. He wants to have some time with her and she wants to have fun again. "Five days of driving?"

"I'll do my share of the driving. If you'll let me," he says darkly, then laughs at her look. "We'll shoot for five hours of driving a day. We can stop in DC and Philly on the way back up. Or wherever else looks interesting. Just go where the road takes us."

Kate bites her bottom lip. "Where would we stay each night?"

"Together," he says cheekily, grinning at her.

And now she's got images in her head, her body is doing a pretty fine job of remembering as well, and the heat is climbing up her insides like a match being set to a stick of dynamite.

It's stupid, and frivolous, and she doesn't really have any more paid time-off, not after this summer, but she won't tell him that. She won't mention this summer.

Instead-

"Okay, Castle. Road trip."

* * *

><p>He rents a car while she calls Gates and requests time off. She stands a little ways off, her back to him, and when he gets the keys, he has to go over and snag her elbow.<p>

She holds a finger up to him and stalks off.

The guy behind the counter is waiting to show them to their car, and Castle shrugs, glances back to where Kate is pacing the floor just past the row of plastic chairs. When she starts talking, she stops moving, her body tense and still. Then she nods, says something, hangs up.

She doesn't say anything when she rejoins him, just follows the attendant out to the car, pulling her suitcase after her. Castle doesn't push, waits for the guy to sign the car out, and then he loads their bags in the trunk and gets in the driver's seat.

His turn to drive for a while.

"What was that about?"

"I told her we couldn't fly."

"You lied?"

"Shaded the truth. For that. And then I outright lied. She didn't want to give me the time off."

Castle wonders, suddenly, if Kate even has the time off to begin with. He forgot about this summer, about how long she was out. Were those sick days, a leave of absence, or jeez, worker's comp?

"What was the lie?"

"I said you were too seasick to fly. I said you might've gotten one of those cruise ship illnesses and we were going to have to drive back."

"Oh. Gross, Beckett."

"So, if Gates should ask you how you felt," Kate finishes. "You tell her you felt awful, you were a whiny baby, and that you begged me not to leave you."

"I can do that last part, if you need me to."

She huffs and shakes her head as he starts the engine, adjusting the air conditioning. "No, Castle. You don't have to beg. I won't be leaving you."

He startles, dropping his hand to the gearshift, surprised by both the ease with which she says it, and the fervor in her voice. She reaches out and takes his hand, laces her fingers through his.

Her hair spills around her face, the sunlight making it nearly blonde in a halo around her head. Her eyes seek his and hold on, fervent, knowing, laid bare. He feels it choke him, feels it rise up in him and clamor for his attention.

He's got to say it again; he let it out in their therapy session this morning and now that he has, again, now that it's in the wind, he can't keep it back.

"Kate-"

She reaches out quickly and snags his lips, shutting him up.

"Your turn to drive. But my turn for this," she says, and leans across the center console to kiss the mouth she hushed, moist and warm, her tongue playing with his. She smooths her fingers over his jaw, back and forth like she's gentling him.

When Kate pulls back, her lips have that lovely smudged look, her eyes are dark pools.

"Your turn?" he questions, and reaches up to take that hand still caressing his jaw.

"My turn. Before we start this," she nods to the open space before them and the GPS waiting patiently with a map. "It's my turn now."

He's about to ask again when she brings his fingers to her mouth, presses her lips against the back of his hand and inhales, deeply, as if she's drawing in strength or courage.

Bu when her eyes lift to his, there seems to be no need for either of those things. She's dazzling: rich, dark gold, her mouth ripe and smiling, her eyes filled up with something he can't name, has never really seen before-

"I love you too," she says, clutches his hand harder to her chest. "I love you too. I love you. I-"

He swallows her next words with the force of his kiss, takes them inside himself where they can never grow old, never rust away.

Never be apart from him.


End file.
